


Mission of Mercy

by fictive_frolic



Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Multi, Oral Sex, Smut, Swearing, Teasing, Veterans, emotionally healthy relationships, meet cute, past deaths mentioned, past torture mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 30,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: Bucky finds a slice of his own time in a world he thought had forgotten all about it.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 79
Kudos: 116





	1. Chapter 1

“Where’s she headed?” Bucky asked watching the woman loading the back of her small SUV with a duffle bag and assorted odds and ends.

She was a friend of Sam’s, one from his days at the VA, Bucky knew, but he couldn’t remember her name. Sam had got her the gig with SHEILD. I guess he figured they all needed counseling. Or a team mom. Or whatever it was she did. Outreach, Bucky figured. Generating good PR. 

“Looks like a mission of Mercy,” Sam said with a small, slightly sad smile. Bucky looked at him for explanation and Sam sighed, instantly looking sadder and a few years older. 

“She’s a third generation Army Brat,” Sam explained. “Dad never came home from Desert Storm and Brother didn’t come back from… whatever the fuck he was doing. Mom was a VA nurse before she retired… So Y/N knows a lot of grumpy old fucks that don’t like to leave their houses. She makes rounds a few times a week still, for the people she’s known since she was just a kid. Friends of her dad’s, some cousins twice removed.”

Bucky exhaled slowly and nodded. That he hadn’t known. He’d never really paid that much attention to you. But now he looked again. You were packing down styrofoam coolers with what looked like milk, eggs, cheese, and assorted lunch meat. And you had a few labeled boxes of cans. A couple cases of beer… That made Bucky smile a little. And he could respect what you were doing. 

“Y/N!” Sam called across the motor pool, “Who’s on your list?”

“Joe, Rocky, and Cooksy, at least for today,” you answer, “Mac and Wild man are still in the nursing home for rehab.”

“Joe, huh?” Sam said walking over, Bucky trailing after him looking confused.

“You wanting to go along?” you ask, smiling, tightening the ratchet straps that held the styrofoam coolers in place.

“That old man still owes me a rematch,” Sam said grinning. 

“Rematch in what?” Bucky asked, catching a case of beer that had started to slide of it’s perch and slotting it carefully into an open space for you. 

“Dice,” you snort, “Sam swears he cheats.” You give Bucky a smile of thanks and slot a small gift bag in next to the case and Bucky has to look away from you. His face feels hot and he feels like you’re looking through him. So he looks at your hands. Work roughened. Nails bitten to the quick. Useful hands. Not just ornaments at the ends of your wrists. Efficient. 

“He Does!” Sam’s voice breaks through Bucky’s distraction and jolts him back to the world. Back out of his head. And for that, Bucky is momentarily grateful. And a scolding gasp from you immediately makes him too aware. 

“Get off my bread you fucking heathen,” you grouse, only half playing as you give Sam a shove away from a bag.

“My bad,” Sam said, quickly, holding his hands up in surrender, “You got a minute though?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “Go get your stuff. I don’t want to wake Joe up before he’s ready.”

Sam gives you a grin and trots off and Bucky sighs, mentally trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his day. He didn’t want to assume he was going. 

“Joe did intelligence work during WWII,” you tell him, “You guys can always swap some bullshit stories… If you want to come.”

Bucky looked at you. You aren’t looking at him, instead you’re leaning on the bumper of your car and looking somewhere not quite the middle distance, but at something, anything else. And he can’t decide if you’re nervous or just awkward. And he can’t decide how he feels about making you nervous. He was nervous. His palms felt clammy and the rolling in his stomach couldn’t decide if it wanted to be butterflies or hornets. 

“Joe won’t mind?” Bucky asked. 

“A friend of mine is a friend of his,” you say, and Bucky can see that the corner of your mouth is upturned in a smile. “He’s a cousin… kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“He’s a cousin of a friend of my mom’s… He used to look after me sometimes when mom had to run a night shift.”

Bucky nodded, “That-” he couldn’t decide if that was “nice,” or “Cool,” or “weird.” 

“He taught me how to draw in three point perspective, gamble, and make a decent martini,” you say, and Bucky can hear the fondness in your voice. “Most importantly I guess, he never let me be a weirdo by myself.”

Bucky let himself chuckle. And when you chanced looking up at him, the rolling in his stomach decided it was butterflies. 

You were smiling. The kind of smile that would be seductive outlines in red. But right now? With no make up on and your hair falling out of a haphazard ponytail? You looked like a kid about to cause trouble. And he wanted to see what trouble that was going to be. 

Sam retuned before Bucky could formulate something flirty to say. Something that wouldn’t sound too dirty or too corny. Something that might make you swoon a little... though. As you swore at Sam across the motorpool telling him to hurry the fuck up, Bucky doubted very much that you had ever swooned in your life. But he could absolutely see that having a grumpy old man baby sit you had had some other amusing outcomes. 

Swear words didn’t look like they fit you. Your mouth was too sweet looking and the words were too blunt and ugly. It looked like they would fit wrong and come out worse. But. The way you said them was so casual. As if you had never not said them. And that… For some reason, tickled Bucky. He likes smart girls. He liked girls with a temper. And listening to you bicker with Sam just… It definitely burst some more butterflies out of their cocoons. It was nice, Sam having to put up with a smart mouth instead of being the one to dish it out. 

__________

The drive was fine. 

Sam didn’t even complain about the music you played. A blend that gave Bucky whiplash and something of a headache behind his eyes. But. That wasn’t your fault. A lot of the music past his own time did that. 

The Audio bombast of discordant sounds and coded meanings of the ever evolving slang was… a lot. So he mostly focused on the scenery. The cars. The people. The sky. The architecture. That helped. Some things about New York would probably never really change. There were more people now. Fewer dresses and more people in pants… And fewer roving packs of kids. But. It felt the same.

It wasn’t until he was standing on the doorstep. He and Sam looming over you like bodyguards that he noticed differences. The lack of washing hung out to dry. The consistent low hum of multiple air conditioners. The lack of kid noises. The lack of… community. The way everyone was together, and apart simultaneously. 

But when the door swung open slowly, and Bucky was greeted by a little old man. One with thick glasses, a bald head, and stooped shoulders. A neck that made him look like a turtle… A sudden warmth washed over him. 

“There’s my favorite ray of Sunshine,” he said, pulling you into an unembarrassed hug. The kind men in his time reserved for their mothers and beloved children. “And my second favorite pain in the ass!” he said, rasping a laugh as he clasped Sam’s hand in his. 

“I moved up a spot,” Sam chuckled.

“Eh, the neighbor’s dog died last week,” Joe said, giving Bucky a steady, appraising look.

“Aww, Bear died?” you say sadly, “poor old man… How’s Irene doing with it?”

Joe turned back towards you and chucked you under the chin gently with a small smile. Bucky didn’t miss the tears that had welled up, and evidently, neither had the old man. “She’s heart broke,” he said, “But, she told me to tell you he loved the blanket and it made his last couple weeks more cozy.”

Joe stepped back and ushered you into the house, letting you pass him to go and quietly pull yourself back together, Bucky figured. The butterflies in his stomach catching a sudden chill. 

“Who’s he?” Joe asked, arms folding across his scrawny chest as he straightened himself to his full height… or as close to it as he could manage.

“Winter Soldier,” Sam said grinning, clapping him on the shoulder before going to get the stuff you had for him out of your trunk.

“No shit?” Joe said, adjusting his glasses.

“No shit,” Sam answered, calling over his shoulder. 

“Well Son,” he said to Bucky, “Come on in. I gotta add a bottle of Jack to my grocery list… it looks like I lost a bet.”

And Bucky can’t help it. He laughs.

In the Hall, just inside the door, Bucky can hear you rattling around. It sounds like dishes being done. And maybe a broom being used and Joe shakes his head. “She’ll make someone a nice wife some day, but fuck if I know what kind of man could handle her.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if that was for him to hear or just Joe Musing to himself out loud, but he smiled anyway and followed him inside. On the walls, there were pictures. Covered bridges, flower gardens, portraits… Presumably of people that the old man knew. Or had known. And the smell of dust and old paper. Decades of smoke from meals cooked and packs of cigarettes. It smelled like age. A sepia tone that mellowed and dulled all the colors around him. But somehow there was nothing harsh. Or forbidding. 

“Will you sit down?” The old man groused, “I have a broad that comes in and does all that shit.”

“Then you’re paying her too much because she ain’t been doin’ it right, old man,” you tell him over your shoulder as you rinse a plate. 

“Bah,” Joe said, flapping his hands at you. Clearly realizing that this wasn’t a fight he could win as he lowered himself into his spot at the kitchen table. “Siddown, son,” he said to Bucky, “Take a load off and let these stupid kids do the grunt work.”

“Kids,” Sam scoffed, putting boxes on the counter with an eye roll as he nudged you.

“I hear him,” you snort. “Careful old man,” you tease, “You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin and at your age, replacement parts are hard to come by.”

“Listen Heifer,” Joe said, eyes dancing behind his thick glasses, “If you wanna kick my old ass, you better pack a lunch.”

You shake your head, and pull the top off a styrofoam cooler, “I got your lunch meat and some eggs. That was it right?”

“Yup,” Joe said, “How much do I owe you?”

“A Dr. Pepper,” you answer over your shoulder, making Joe give you a stern look. 

“Young Lady-”

“You’re not giving me money, ya old coot,” you say, more fond than scolding as you kiss the top of his bald head.

“The hell I’m not-”

“I’ll tell momma and she’ll have both our asses. Me for taking the money and you for payin’ me.”

“She’s got you there Joe,” Sam said, grinning. 

“You shaddup,” Joe said grumpily, eyeing your back. And Bucky could see he was trying to gauge how likely it was that he could slip you some money without you knowing you’d been given any. Bucky grinned and Caught Sam’s eye before bumping the table with his knee to get the old man’s attention.

Once the Old man’s sharp eyes had fixed on him, Bucky glanced meaningfully towards the coat rack. Where your jacket hung so conveniently.And Joe followed his gaze, he grinned and touched his nose in acknowledgement. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ do it,” you say not turning around. 

And Joe made a silent “rats” gesture, before sticking his tongue out at your back.


	2. Chapter 2

“Where’s Y/N?” Bucky asked, helping himself to a cup of coffee in the cavernous compound kitchen. 

Steve looked up from his laptop and looked around, “She was just here a minute ago, why?”

“I just wanna talk to her.”

“About what?” Steve looked interested now and Bucky cringed internally. Steve being interested meant he was paying attention. 

“I need her to look at something for me, “ Bucky lied quickly.

Really, Bucky thought. He just wanted to know if you maybe wanted a cup of coffee. Or something. Anything. He wanted to see your eyes light up like they did right before you made some sneaky little joke. 

He liked your sneaky jokes. Snarky comments. Never mean spirited. Taking a shot at yourself as often as you took a shot at someone else. He wanted… He wanted to talk to you. Really talk. Ask about Joe. And the Others. To see what kind of books you read. To know. Did you keep your jewelry in a trinket box or scattered over the top of your dresser. He wanted to know what the name of your perfume was. 

“Look at what?” Steve asked. 

“Just-” Bucky freezes. He can’t think of a good lie. But Steve, just gives him a level look.

“Buck, your coffee-”

Shit. Bucky jumped back from the counter, slamming the glass carafe down and immediately shattering it on the marble countertop. Adding glass to the mess of coffee and cream on the floor. 

“Jesus Christ, Frosty, was there a Hydra Agent in the coffee pot?” Tony drawled as he tossed a roll of paper towels at the waiting super soldier. 

Bucky felt his face heat and he was grateful for the distraction of cleaning up a mess. And that his grunt of irritation seemed to be answer enough for Tony. Though. Not for Steve. 

He could feel the other man’s eyes fixed on him, though what he was thinking or what he had been about to say was anyone’s guess. But with Tony Stark’s entrance into the kitchen, Bucky couldn’t help but feel… relieved. It took the focus off of him. It gave him time to think. To focus. Bucky didn’t know if this was love. 

He was reasonably sure it wasn’t. Not really. It was a crush. Maybe less toothless than a schoolboy crush on a pretty teacher. Or his baby sitter. But. It was still a crush. And he’d be lying if he said it didn’t enjoy it. 

It felt new. 

Like all crushes. Each one was exhilarating, it made you giddy even while it tied you up in knots. And for Bucky, it proved to him that some part of him. The old parts. The romantic parts… were still there. That decades of killing and mind control hadn’t taken it away. He still remembered what it felt like to have a pretty girl look up at you from under her lashes. How it felt to have a woman slip her hand into his and squeeze gently. 

And he wanted-  
He wasn’t sure what he wanted exactly, but he knew he wanted to talk to you. 

So as he slipped out of the kitchen and, he stopped. He wasn’t quite sure where your office was. Or if you even had an office. He’d never seen you work in one. But he had caught glimpses of you working on a laptop… On benches. On tables. On the floor. Anywhere you could get a good connection and a descently comfortable sunbeam.

But. He had a vague idea of where your room was. It was in the same area of the building that everyone else who lived there tended to stay. You were not an Avenger. That was true. But you were official. Support staff. And well liked. By almost everyone. 

So he headed towards where he thought he might find you. Maybe. 

The sun this time a day streamed through the windows in the common room in just the right way… It was warm there. Bright. The perfect spot to ease yourself into your day. 

And when he burst through the door, just as you were taking a sip from your coffee mug, Bucky smiled a little. You were frowning at the screen over your mug. Irritated maybe? Thinking? Both?

Bucky wasn’t sure but he approached the table slowly. Careful not to startle you. He didn’t want you to be scared. He decided he didn’t like you nervous around him. He wanted you relaxed. Like you were in Joe’s little kitchen. Like you were as you touched his shoulder to tell him to were squeezing behind him. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. 

“Hey,” you answer, smiling, “What’s up?”

“Just- Just wanted to say hi. See how Joe’s doing.”

You nod, “He’s- He’s Joe,” you say laughing, “He’s a cantankerous old man. Except now he thinks I need to settle down. And he’s trying to guit me into doing it.”

“How?” Bucky asked chuckling, taking the seat opposite you.

“Sayin’ I gotta get married before he dies,” you sigh, “That way he can make sure that whoever it is is gonna take care of me right.”

Bucky nods and takes a deep breath. He wants to take your hand. He’d seen a flicker in your eyes. Pain. Apprehension. It didn’t matter that Joe was an old man. You loved him. “He cares about you,” Bucky said. 

“I know,” you sigh, “I just- it’s so morbid.”

Bucky chuckled, “I get it though. If it were a girl young enough to be my granddaughter, I wouldn’t want her dating just any old asshole.”

You snort, “Well, it’s not like I’m drowning in offers right now.”

“Why not,” Bucky asked, “You’re not unfortunate looking or anything.”

“No time, really, “ you shrug.

Bucky nodded. You were a career girl. That he understood. You had your own goals. You had plans. He’d always liked career girls. 

“That makes sense. You’re busy,” he said. 

“Yeah, but it’s been a long time since I went to go taste cake samples.”

“Cake samples?” Bucky asked, confused. 

“Yeah. You pretend to be engaged and then go sample cakes.”

“That works huh?”

You smile, “It was a cheap date in college… and I learned that a guys preferred cake flavor can give you a clue about the longevity of the relationship.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky leaned forward, interested. “What about Devil’s food?”

“Oh god. A week,” you laugh, “Trying too hard. Thinks he’s a player… He’s also boring because that’s the fanciest sounding cake he could think of.”

Bucky grinned, “What’s your favorite?”

“Tiramisu,” you answer primly. 

Bucky nodded, digesting that, “I don’t think I’ve ever had that.”

“It’s cake heaven,” you gush. “So good.”

“Oh so you’re fancy?” Bucky said, “What would you say about someone that liked vanilla cake?”

You look at him consideringly, mischief glittering in your eyes. And Bucky feels the butterflies in his belly take wing. “Hmm,” you hum thoughtfully, taking a sip of coffee, “Vanilla cake is a classic. Done right it’s heavenly… Kinda like missionary sex. So. He’s probably a gentleman. And he probably appreciates a girl who’ll let him be gentlemanly.”

Bucky felt his face heat and he coughed, “I- I-”

“You wanna go try some cake?” You crinkle your nose at him and Bucky takes a deep breath. 

“Yeah,” he said, “I think I’d like that.”


	3. Chapter 3

You reach over and wipe a crumb and some icing from the corner of Bucky’s mouth with a smile. 

“I really like Vanilla cake,” Bucky said, his cheeks coloring. 

“I know.” You answer, your smile stretching into a grin. 

“And- and,” he stopped, swallowing hard. Suddenly, he’s nervous. Like he hadn’t been all day long. Not through the trip into the city. Not through getting a toy ring from a vending machine. Not through... any of it. But now?

Not he wants to kiss you. He wants to taste the sweet cream that might still be clinging to your lips before you chase it away with bitter black coffee. 

“And?” you prompt, still smiling. Almost teasing. 

And, Bucky thinks. And is almost as bad as Almost... Sometimes. But this and... isn’t demanding. You don’t want an explanation. Or a reason why he’s standing there blushing and gaping at you. You just...

But Bucky doesn’t have time to finish that though either. You grab him by the front of his jacket. Stand on your toes. And kiss him. Lips smashing firmly, teasingly into his. Daring him to do something else about it.

So he does. 

Bucky Barnes might not be able to think, but. He’s always kissed better when he can’t. One hand moves to cradle the back of your neck and his metal arm slides around your waist, inside your jacket so he can feel more of you through your t shirt. Soft warmth that feels as delicious as the sweetness of your lips. 

You make a soft needy noise against his lips and Bucky feels warmth spread through his body. He can feel a hand tangling in his hair and feel you pushing against him. Needing more. Wanting more of him. Urgently. 

Bucky gentles you softly and teasingly nips your lip, “Easy, doll,” he chuckles, “I’m an old man. Too much more of that and my old ticker is gonna give up the ghost... Not that it wouldn’t be a nice way to go.”

You smack him on the chest giggling and kiss his jaw again. “Not bad for a guy that likes vanilla cake,” you tease. 

“Hey!” he protests, cupping your face in his hands and kissing your nose, “Classics are classics for a reason!”

“Well, you are an antique,” you giggle

“And mostly original parts,” he agreed, tucking your arm into his. “Where to now, gorgeous?”

“Well,” you muse, tucking closer when the wind picked up, “We’ve had dessert... What about dinner?”

“That sounds good,” he answers, “Where should we go?”

“Chinese?” you suggest.

“Hmm,” Bucky mused. He didn’t really want Chinese. But he couldn’t really come up with a better idea. And... he could always order something other than the heart burn inducing orange chicken he’d learned he liked. 

“Or we could just go back to the tower, make something to eat, and go hide in one of our rooms... watch some movies?”

Bucky looked down at you and kissed your nose again, “Some of that Netflix and Chill Sam keeps telling me about?”

You grin, “Our Chill might be a little less than Chill,” you admit, cheeks heating.

“Oh?” Bucky tried to pretend at nonchalance but the idea of you and some more kisses in the dark was tantalizing. 

“I mean... If you want,” you tell him, swallowing hard. 

He stopped on the side walk and cradled your face in his hand for a moment before twisting a stray lock of your hair around one of his fingers. “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do,” he said, brushing his lips against yours. “Maybe you can broaden my horizons a little.”

And when you giggle, Bucky makes a quiet promise to himself to make you do that again. At least one more time with your shirt off. And probably your pants off too.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky could feel eyes boring into the back of his head and he debated pretending he didn’t know. But. He didn’t really feel like being shot. Or stabbed when he wasn’t looking. 

“Sam-” he started.

“This,” Sam said over him, “Is an obligatory reminder that if you break her heart, I’m gonna break your legs.”

“Pretty sure Joe would do it first,” Bucky said turning with a wry smile. 

“He’d certainly try,” Sam snorted, folding his arms. 

Bucky sighed. Despite the flirting, all you had really done was snuggle in on the sofa in your room and watch movies. You’d fallen asleep on his chest and Honestly, Bucky wasn’t disappointed. 

If he was being honest, he was a little afraid that he would have hurt you. Not on purpose. No, he’d never have hurt you on purpose. But… He’d never. Well, he’d never been with a girl… like he was now. As the Winter Soldier, well. He didn’t remember much of that but he did know that the needs of his body were secondary to the mission. Aesthetic things. Love. They weren’t allowed at all. And now? The metal arm he’d been given in Wakanda was a lot more… capable of delicate movements. But. That didn’t mean, well. He was afraid.   
What if he wasn’t de-programmed all the way. What if things- what if things were like he’d seen on the internet? Some of it- Some of it was frankly terrifying to him. As far as he was concerned if your girl left your room with bruises, you deserved your knee caps broken.

“Look,” Bucky started slowly, “I didn’t- I mean. We didn’t sleep together… we just slept together.” He didn’t want to leave room for misinterpretation but. At the same time. He didn’t really want to talk about it. Or you. Not like that. He wasn’t really the kiss and tell type. 

Thankfully, Bucky thought, exhaling slowly, watching the other man nod, Sam seemed to understand what Bucky had meant. And even more thankfully, Sam wasn’t able to ask any more questions. 

“Bucky?”

He turned to see Natasha standing in the door way, smirking, “Are wedding bells going to ring?”

Bucky felt his face heat and he turned away from his two friends that were now both smirking at him. 

“Wait-” Sam said, “How’d you know-”

“Steve caught him,” Nat answered, “Creeping out of Y/N’s room. This dummy was even carrying his shoes.”

“That’s-”

“I know,” she said shaking her head.

“You came down here to yell at me,” Bucky interjected. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, “That that was until I found out that you’re like saving it for marriage or something.”

“I’m not-”

“That ship sailed in like 1936,” Steve said, looking down at the clipboard in his hand as he slipped past Natasha.

“So why-” Sam started. 

But Sam didn’t get a chance to finish that question. You walked past the open door and Natasha stepped quickly on Sam’s foot making his stop, so quickly that Bucky thought he might have bitten his tongue. 

“Hey Bucky,” you say with a smile before turning to address Sam, “Are we still going to get lunch?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam said, “I’ve got paperwork out the ass.”

“Lame,” you huff, “Guess I’ll-”

“I’ll go,” Bucky said quickly. It didn’t matter if he was behind on his paperwork. Anything that was going to get him out of this room. 

“Okay,” you murmur, face heating and trying really, really hard not to look at Sam who was now smirking. And Bucky followed you out of the room.

“What’s for lunch?” he asked, slipping his hand into yours.

“Burritos?” you muse, “Or maybe Pizza. Sushi?”

“Sushi?” Bucky said crinkling his nose. 

“What I’d really love is a Sushi Burrito but… I don’t have enough time to go all the way to California for that.”

“Ew,” Bucky said frowning.

“Why ew?”

“It’s raw fish,” he answered.

“Yeah but there’s stuff you can get that isn’t… Like a bento box. Those usually come with a California Roll. And that’s like… Gateway sushi.”

“Gateway sushi?”

“Sure… It’s just veggies, rice, and seaweed… No raw fish.”

“Gateway though?”

“Sure. There’s a whole thing about gateway drugs and how it’s ‘just a little pot’ turns into crystal meth and shit… And a California roll turns into a spicy tuna roll or an eel roll before you know it,” You explain, giving a little skip to remind him to shorten his steps.

“I do think I like Tiramisu now,” Bucky said, tucking your hand into his elbow and pulling you a little closer. He decided, walking along next to you, that he liked being in the future.

Sure. Things were weird. And sometimes he missed the candies that they didn’t make anymore. And not being bombarded with ads every 2 minutes. But. 

When you smiled up at him, excited to show him something new, he decided that it wasn’t all so bad. 

“I told you,” you tease, standing on your toes for a second to kiss his jaw. 

“You did,” he chuckled, holding the heavy glass door for you. And his heart skipped a beat when you gave him a smile of thanks. One day a woman had been… snippy with him about holding a door for her. And so he’d been hesitant. But. He was happy to see that you didn’t seem to have any… issues with it. “So, let’s… let’s try Sushi, I guess.”

“Really?”

And the way your eyes lit up sealed the deal. “Yeah, Doll,” he said smiling. “Let’s give it a shot.”

And you beamed at him, “You’re really going to love Dumplings… and Mochi.”

“Well,” Bucky said, kissing the top of your head, “You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

“Not yet,” you answer, pressing into his side.

And for a long time, Bucky just walks next to you, appreciating the quiet. And the warmth of you against his side. 

“Wait,” he said looking down at you, “I’m not going to get worms am I?”

“No,” you snort, “We’re going to avoid the Shady Sushi places for your first time out… I’m not in college anymore. That shit ain’t cute.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Bucky,” you protest, “I’m okay.”

Bucky frowned and tilted your chin up, wanting to get a better look at your busted lip and gently dabbed at it with his now damp handkerchief. “I guess that answers my question about what you actually do,” he said, keeping his voice very, very quiet. He didn’t trust himself not to yell. He wanted to shake you until your teeth rattled. And then kiss you stupid. And then maybe shake you again. 

He was so happy you were alive but… furious at you for running headlong into the fight to start with. In his mind’s eye, he could see an old man. Standing at his window and mourning another lost loved one. His shoulders were bowed and there was a cup. A leather cup on the table that held dice. And he couldn’t make himself put them away. But he couldn’t look at them either. For some absurd reason, that bothered him more than the thought he might have lost you. Or that your mother would have to bury… or pretend to bury another child. 

You don’t answer him, looking away. It was true, you had a specific specialty. You could talk. And not just talk. You could read people so well that you could get inside their heads. Make them believe you already knew things you had no earthly way to know…And now Bucky knew that you could do it. Something that you weren’t sure how to feel about. You didn’t advertise your talents… nor did you use them terribly often. But. You could understand why Bucky might be… reticent to spend much more time around you than he had to. And you could feel yourself bracing for a “let’s be friend’s speech” or a cold, brooding silence. 

The man watched you avert your eyes to the dirt and dust that coated your hands. And having seen you in action, he was acutely aware of two things. You were dangerous and most importantly, if he’d kept his mouth shut, the building would not have exploded. 

__________

Across the lot Sam meant to start forward. He meant to talk to you. Or Pull Bucky away from you, he wasn’t sure. The other man looked quietly furious and Sam felt a knee jerk reaction to protect you. Even if he knew you didn’t need it. 

But. Steve threw an arm across his chest and shot him a warning look, mindful of Bucky’s hearing. And Sam felt himself relax. It was good to know that he wasn’t the only one paying attention. And as Sam glanced around, taking a second to take his eyes off of you, he noticed that a lot of people were watching. Albeit, a lot less obviously. 

_____________

For a long time. Bucky was quiet. And you let it be. Letting it stretch out ahead of you like unspooling ribbon. Letting him think. But when he finally did speak, you started. 

“I think it’s safe to say I’m not the weirdest person in this relationship,” Bucky said, smiling a little. And you chanced looking up at him.

Bucky kissed you gently on the forehead, mindful of a wicked spot of road rash near your hairline. “You’re a 105 and have a metal arm,” you protest, smiling a little. “I just cold read like a shitty fake psychic.”

“That’s more than cold reading, Darlin’,” he said softly, brushing a metal thumb against your cheek. “That man didn’t stand a chance… until I opened my dumbass mouth.”

“You’re not mad at me?” you ask him. 

“Furious with you,” he chuckled, “But. Not because you can get in people’s heads. What the fuck were you doing, doing it without backup?”

“They always send me in alone… Or mostly alone,” you answer. “It can get pretty upsetting to watch me find pressure points. We had a rookie agent take a shot at me once… So.”

Bucky frowned, “What- no. Not anymore they don’t.”

“Bucky,” you caution.

‘No,” Bucky said softly, “I’m pulling rank. Sam or I are going with you from now on. ‘Specially now that I know to shut up.”

“But-”

“He’s got a point, Y/N.”

Steve’s voice makes you both turn and you sigh, “Steve-”

“No really,” Steve said smiling a little, “If we’re sending you in unarmed, you need some kind of backup.”

“I’m never unarmed,” you snorted. 

“Maybe not,” Steve chuckled, “But you can’t exactly talk to a bullet.”

“I can talk to the person firing it… Or better. Let them talk. Talking people usually aren’t shooting.”

Bucky sighed and pulled you against his chest, resting his chin against the top of your head. Steve made a tactful retreat and Bucky kissed the top of your head. “I thought I lost you for a second,” he said softly.   
“I’m like a bad penny,” you say smiling a little, “You can’t get rid of me.”

Bucky couldn’t say anything to that. He just tightened his grip on you and kissed the top of your head again. Thankful that you had gotten out of the way. Thankful for the adrenaline that had let him throw rubble away from where you had been standing. And for the rest of his life, he’d never forget the relief that washed over him when you picked your way carefully over the debris, coughing and dazed. 

“I called your mom.”

Sam’s voice was the next one to make the two of your tun and you groaned. 

“Why?”

“A fucking building came down on your head,” he groused, “And for about 10 minutes we figured you were under it.”

“Sam-”

“She’s your emergency contact!”

“Did you get her on the phone?”

“I left her a voice mail and told her to call me,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

You snort and exhale slowly, “She’s probably most of the way into her margarita at the swim-up bar. I’ll talk to her tomorrow too.”

Bucky frowned but didn’t say anything. He knew, of course that your relationship with your mother was… strained to put it lightly. Though. When he said he knew, he only knew from overheard snippets of phone calls. Even if private, you never talked too much about your family. Not of the brother that you lost or the dad you never really knew… if you knew him at all. And not of your mom. The closest thing Bucky got to gossip or real information was the little things that Sam or Joe had told him. Or rather… let slip out of your earshot. But. Regardless. He filed this away for later. It was one more piece of the puzzle that made up who you are.


	6. Chapter 6

Joe could hear the low murmur of voices on his door step. The deep rumble of a man’s voice and the softer replies from you. And he smiled a little when he heard your knock. 

“I’m coming,” he groused, “Keep your hair on.”

He hauled himself to his feet and made his way to the front door. And he stopped in the hall. His heart melted. Bucky was holding an umbrella in one hand and your jaw, very gently in the other. And both of you were smiling softly. Quietly acknowledging some joke. Bucky looks like he wants to kiss you, starting to lean forward just slightly and you? You look like you wouldn’t mind that at all. So, Joe does what any self respecting curmudgeon would do. He coughs, loudly, making the two of you spring apart, cheeks heating and looking embarrassed. Like you’d been caught doing more than almost stealing a smooch on his front steps. 

But when you turn your head to look at him directly, Joe feels his heart drop. You’d got a brace on one arm, a busted lip, and something that looks like some road rash up towards your hairline. “Jesus Christ,” Joe grumbled, “You look like hell.”

“The other guy looks worse,” you answer, grimacing as your foot slips on the door jamb. And Bucky locks an arm quickly around your waist to steady you.

It takes Joe all of a second to realize Bucky is bearing most of your weight to help you through the door and he hurries, as much as he can to go do… something that might help you get comfortable. 

“Easy, Doll,” Bucky cautions, when you protest softly that you’re okay. “Cracked ribs aren’t anything to play with.”

Bucky nods when Joe pulls a chair out for you and deposits you in it carefully. Joe doesn’t miss that the other man looks worried. You already look exhausted and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on your skin, making you look like a tragic little waif.

“What the hell happened?” Joe demanded, setting a room temperature 7-up on the table for you and sliding a trash can next to your chair. He knows, all too well exactly where your pain tolerance gives way to nausea and he also knows that you’re looking a little green around the gills. 

“Hydra dropped a building on her head,” Bucky explained, opening the soda to give himself something to do.

Joe makes a soft noise and you shoot Bucky a look. “Well, maybe not on her head exactly,” he said, trying to fix it. 

“But close enough,” Joe said weakly, kissing your hair. And for a long, uncomfortable moment he can’t speak. He’s wrestling back the need to lecture you. The need to be angry at you for getting hurt. He wants you to be 8 again. To come in to see him like a tornado of little girl chatter. All long colt-ish legs and suspiciously sticky hands. When you told him once that you didn’t want to be a soldier, he breathed a sigh of relief. But then you became something worse. An agent. 

“I’ll be okay,” you assure him gently. “I’m just out of commission until the ribs heal up. And my brain still works as well as it ever did.”

Joe smiled wryly and kissed the top of your head again, “D’ja call your mother?” 

“I talked to her the next day,” you answer nodding. 

“Wha’daja tell her?” he asked, making sure he had his story straight. He might be old, but he wasn’t senile enough to think that you would have told her the truth. Especially not after what happened with your brother. 

“Car wreck,” you answer, taking a careful sip of the soda. It’s uncomfortable sitting and standing but. At least sitting up your ribs aren’t getting jostled.

“How many more times you think you’re gonna get away with that one?” Joe snorted. 

“At least 3 more,” you answer. “Paying attention to what I tell her means my mom can’t spend time mourning my brother. Or chasing washed out old rock stars.”

It was said with no bitterness. It was a statement of fact. And that, more than the statement its self that made Bucky blink. But when he caught Joe’s eye, a subtle nod from the other man confirmed that you weren’t exaggerating. At least not by much. Bucky also didn’t miss the quick change of subject Joe executed. And before he knew it, Bucky was happily playing cards with the old man as he pestered you. 

When you started to yawn and stare off into space, Joe smiled a little, “Why don’t you go lie down?” he suggested. “The couch is probably still pretty comfy.”

Bucky opened his mouth to offer to take you home, but shut it quickly when Joe went to go find you a blanket before you even had a chance to answer him. And Bucky remembered what it was like to be lonely. And what he would give to have his little sister to dote on. You smile a little, “Help me up?” you ask him. 

And he doesn’t need asking twice. Even if he senses an interrogation coming. You look wrecked, and if getting you a little nap. Or atleast some time to close your eyes, could help, Bucky isn’t going to prevent it. 

He half carries you to the sofa and helps you lie down, cringing in sympathy when you yelp. “Easy, doll,” Bucky soothed, “Just go slow.”  
“That hurts worse,” you pant.

“If you’d take pain meds it wouldn’t be this bad,” Bucky scolded, tucking the proffered blanket around you gently. 

“I can’t think when I take them,” you protest. 

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but he kisses your forehead.

“Bucky?” 

“Hmm?”

“Play nice.”

That makes him grin and he kisses you tenderly, “I will. But you gotta try and rest. The old man’s gonna have a heart attack.”

“I heard that!” Joe yelled from the kitchen, “Quit smoochin’ my best girl and let me finish kickin’ your ass at cards.”

Bucky winked at you and left you to try and rest while he went off to face what might possibly be the most nerve wracking interrogation he’d ever been a part of.


	7. Chapter 7

For the next several minutes, Joe and Bucky played cards in relative silence. And Bucky couldn’t help but squirm a little. He knew this was about to be a man to man chat. The kind that ladies were not ever supposed to hear. 

Joe may be willing to swear in front of you, and he may be willing to be brutally honest about his military exploits but some things, Bucky knew Joe would sooner punch himself in the mouth than let you hear. Still. When the old man stood up and made his way to the livingroom to check on you, Bucky wasn’t sure he was ready. 

Until he made his way back to the kitchen, quietly shutting the swinging door. For the first time, Bucky really saw Joe as old. The stooped shoulders and the slight tremor in his hands was more pronounced. The usual twinkle in his eye was gone. And Bucky could see the old soldier under the worn flannel and house shoes. 

“You know,” Joe said softly, “The worst day of my life was when she told me SHIELD made her a job offer.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He simply reached around to the fridge behind him and handed him a beer. Joe took it with a soft smile of thanks and sank heavily into his seat. 

“It could be my one chance, she told me,” he said staring into the middle distance, like he was seeing it all over again. “If Clay is still out there somewhere, I can bring him home.”

Bucky cringed in sympathy. He knew that feeling. And he knew it well. 

“Did she find him?”

Joe shook his head, “All she ever found was what happened to him.” The old man took a pull of his beer and stood again, this time tottering towards the back of the house. To his bedroom. Bucky waited patiently, listening to the shuffling of what sounded like picture frames.

And when he came back, carrying a small photo album, Bucky smiled a little. 

“When Clay died,” Joe said quietly, “I put these away. The poor kid was already growing up in a mausoleum. She didn’t need to be reminded of him here too.” He handed the photo album to Bucky. “But, I can tell you one thing, those kids kept me well stocked with portrait references.”

Bucky took the book and dutifully flipped to the first page, smiling a little. 

“Clay was a good big brother,” Joe said fondly. “He took it so seriously.” The old man trailed off and shook his head, “Jesus Christ,” he swore, “I’d like to know what the fuck it was all for. They told us we were making a world where the kids would be safe… And they’re all still getting blown to hell.”

Bucky made a soft sound of agreement and he felt plates in his arm clench reflexively. 

“Mausoleum?” Bucky chanced. And like he snapped back to earth, Joe chuckled bitterly. 

“Rex died in action and Carlie mourned. Like any wife. But she never stopped,” he explained. “The whole house was like a permanent shrine… Birthdays, Christmas, graduation… whatever. It all HAD to have a memorial to Rex. No one was ever allowed to forget he was gone. And with Clay?” The old man flinched and took a deep breath, “Everything just… There was nothing she could do that was ever about her. Ever.”

Joe exhaled slowly, “Burying a child is hard. The hardest thing you could ever do. But… It didn’t seem to matter that she had a still living child. It didn’t matter that she was grieving too.”

Bucky stayed silent, watching the old man for a moment, knowing that the story wasn’t over. 

“She never cried. Not in public, anyway. At least not until her 21st birthday.” Joe sighed and shook his head. “She was so fucked up I’m not sure how she got here,” he snorted. “But all at once it hit her that her big brother was gone. Really gone. And she just fucking broke. I thought for a while I was going to have to put her in the loony bin… But. She sobered up and hasn’t said a word about him since.”

In the living room you whimpered on the sofa and both men’s head’s turned towards the door, listening for the sound to continue if you were trying to get up. But it didn’t.

“She was out cold, wasn’t she?” Bucky asked. 

“Like a light,” Joe said softly

“I hope my ma didn’t do that to Becky,” Bucky said softly, “The one thing I wanted was for everyone to keep going… Not let the bastards win, you know?”

Joe nodded, “I spent my fair share of time in a POW camp,” he said. 

“Here’s to not letting the bastards win,” Bucky said, raising his beer in mock toast. 

“May their fat crackle in hell,” Joe said, taking a pull. 

For a moment, the two men drank in silence. The quiet like a third companion and Joe set his bottle down. “So,” he started, “I assume you know how condoms work.”

Bucky choked on his drink and sputtered for a moment. Paroxysms of cough shaking his whole body as he tried to expel the ale from his sinuses. “We’re not- I- I - I” he stopped, blushing furiously and wiped uselessly at the front of his shirt. “I mean,” He stopped and swallowed hard. 

Joe smirked at him, “You know. I may be older than sin, but if you don’t take care of my best girl, I can still aim well enough to hit… Maybe not center mass but… Close enough.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but in a way, he was thankful that the old man loved you enough to threaten him. And that Sam. And Nat. And the other handful of old codgers he’d met had taken the time to remind him that they loved you first. 

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Bucky said softly. And when he met the old man’s eyes, he knew that he’d taken the meaning. “And- I talked to some people. They’re not sending her in solo any more. Steve’s pretty sure I can keep rookies from shooting at her.”

Joe nodded, “How the fuck did they even manage to drop the building on her?”

“Well,” Bucky sighed, picking his words carefully. “If I woulda kept my trap shut the goon wouldn’t have set off the bomb… I just didn’t realize what she was doing.”

“The sneaky little shit,” Joe snorted. “It’s a sight, isn’t it?”

“She calls it cold reading,” Bucky said, “But it’s sharper than that.”

Joe nodded, “Some people call it being an Empath. But if you tell Y/n that that’s what she is, she’ll cold cock you.”

“That,” You panted, sliding the door back and leaning heavily on the door frame, “Is because people who describe themselves as empaths are fucking insufferable.”


	8. Chapter 8

Joe watched Bucky help you to a chair and nodded to himself. He knew, watching the quiet worry on the man’s face that this wasn’t performative. 

“I should get you home,” Bucky said anxiously. You don’t look much better rested. And you sound like you’re having trouble breathing. 

You lean against his side and exhale slowly. You feel fuzzy-headed and it’s really hard to think, regardless of the lack of pain medication. 

“And I got better things to do than entertain you two all day,” Joe groused, reaching over and patting your hand. 

You snort and squeeze the hand that’s patting yours, “I do miss my bed.”

Bucky smiled a little. Your bed was comfortable, it was true. He’d spent a lot of time there with you, lounging around and reading books. Watching TV. Whatever it was in between stolen kisses. He hadn’t been lying when he stammered out that he hadn’t had sex with you. There had been some discussions. Bucky having to tell you why he was reticent. 

That he was worried he’d hurt you. That it wasn’t a lack of interest in you, it was a need to take things slow. To remember he wasn’t who he had been programmed to be. Because sometimes, in the heat of the moment when he can feel the heat of your skin under him and you’re looking up at him with big doe eyes; in the half-light, anticipation can look like terror. A heart rate raised in arousal doesn’t sound any different from anxiety. And Bucky. Sometimes he remembers. Girls that Hydra volunteered to… reward him. Or entertain him. Or test him. He was never sure. But. He hated it. He hated that they came in and started touching him. That if he refused his treatment in that dark, dank cell got worse. He knew now, that it was about control. About them controlling every little aspect of his life. 

He wanted you. Desperately. But. He was horrified at the thought that he would hurt you accidentally or otherwise. Still, even with the amount of masturbating that he’d done, he wouldn’t trade his nights in your room for anything. He felt like himself. Not who he was before the war. Not the Winter Soldier. He was who he was now. He was Bucky again. A Bucky that could work a smartphone. That existed in a world he never in a million years thought he would see. One where he could go to space if he wanted. One where he had a girl that swore and blew straw wrappers at him across tables. 

“So,” Bucky said gently, “Let’s get you home, Beautiful.”

You nod slowly and take a deep breath. Joe smiles and gets to his feet slowly and bent to kiss the top of your head, “I love you, punk.”

“Love you too,” you tell him. “Let me know if you need anything?”

“I will,” he said. “And I’ll make sure to tell your mom you banged yourself up in a car wreck.” Joe glanced towards the photo album on the table. The one he hadn’t put away yet and Bucky winced. You were looking towards it. Though neither of them could really read the look on your face. 

“Alright,” you say finally. Bucky stoops down so you can put an arm around his shoulders and you let him ease you to your feet, thankful, not for the first time that he was really strong. Because your knees feel like jello and you feel sick. You always feel sick when you think of Clay. You remember empty coffins and the constant burning in your throat. 

If Bucky notices how much support you need to stand, he doesn’t say anything. But when you hug Joe goodbye he hovers nearby, ready to grab you if you wavered. But you didn’t. 

Bucky helps you down the steps carefully, “You okay, doll?” he asked quietly as you half turn to wave goodbye to Joe again. The rain had stopped, leaving the block smelling of wet pavement and summer just around the corner. 

“I’m okay,” you answer. Your lips feel bloodless and everything sounds like it’s coming from underwater. But as you breathe through it, focused on the smell of the air and the warmth coming from Bucky, you can feel your heart rate slow just slightly. 

Bucky puts you in the passenger seat and reaches over the buckle you in, stealing a soft kiss. “I love you, you know that don’t you.”

“I know,” you murmur, “I love you too.”

Your eyes are over bright and Bucky feels his chest constrict. He isn’t sure what pain is making it happen but he kissed you again as he reached up and wiped tears away, “I know it hurts,” he said, trying to soothe you. 

“I- just,” you stop and swallow hard. “Can you take me home?”

“I’d take you anywhere, baby girl,” he said handing you the handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. 

“I just want to go home,” you plead softly. 

“Okay,” he soothed, kissing your forehead. Tears were starting to fall a little faster and he can see the strain on your face from the effort it was taking to try and hold yourself together. To keep from jostling your ribs. “Let’s get you home and into some jammies.”

He shuts the car door for you and takes a deep breath as he walks around the car. The pain, he knows, is not all your ribs. You had a very visceral reaction to that photo album. To whatever it was in there that reminded you of your brother.   
“You know?” Bucky said, “I figured Joe was gonna be busting out a car battery or something.”

You snort in spite of yourself and Bucky takes that as a good sign. So he keeps talking. “He told me to behave myself,” Bucky said, “I’m assuming that means he expects me to marry you.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” you chuckle. “Nobody should have to put up with me that long.”

“Put up with you?” Bucky scoffed. “Sweetheart, you’re stuck with me. There’s no putting up with you.” He stopped at the light and turned to look at you. “For 70 years I was a ghost. And you brought me back to life.”

“I didn’t-” you start to protest. 

“You did,” Bucky insisted. “Shuri, my doctors- The fixed my brain. You brought me back to the world.” He reached over and took your hand, lacing metal fingers through yours. “You are everything I never knew I needed… And I can’t believe I have Sam Wilson of all people to thank for it. The fucker.”

When you laugh he kisses your hand, “I’m not stuck with you,” he said. “I’m lucky to have you.”

For a long time, neither of you says anything, but you don’t let go of the hand you’re holding. And Bucky doesn’t pull away. The tears that had been falling steadily were slowing down again. 

“Becky would have liked you,” He said after a long time. He knew it was a risk. But he didn’t want you to feel alone. 

“I think I would have liked her too,” you tell him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Bucky had hoped you would tell him something about Clay. About when you were young. But. He’ll take being able to tell you about Becky. And his Ma without feeling like he’s going to hurt you. 

“When we were kids,” Bucky said, “She followed me everywhere. Wanted to do everything I did. Ma used to have fits when Becky used to try and play baseball. Or go fishin’.” Bucky reclaimed his hand for a moment to back into the parking spot he pulled up to and you looked around. 

“This isn’t home,” you remind him.

“I know,” he said grinning, “But… If I learned anything from Becky, I learned that icecream can fix anything.”

You smile a little, “I think that’s a little sister thing.”

“Oh?” Bucky said, pulling his wallet out of the center console and watching your face carefully. Preparing to tread lightly. 

“I tried to convince Clay of the same thing,” you explain. 

“Tried?” Bucky chuckled. 

“Clay was a devotee of tacos,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Salsa Verde and street tacos were food the way god intended.”

“Philistine,” Bucky scoffed, teasingly. 

“I know,” you sigh, “But there’s no accounting for taste.”

And Bucky doesn’t press further. “Sit tight, Princess,” he teases stealing a kiss, “I’ll be back.”

“Can I have sprinkles?” you ask.

“What do you think I am? An amateur? Sprinkles and whipped cream. And a cherry on top.” He grins and kisses you again, “I promised Joe I was gonna take care of his best girl. And I really don’t want him to shoot me in the crotch.”


	9. Chapter 9

“What’dya want?” Joe sighed as he answered the phone. 

He’d been napping. It was Saturday and with no visitors incoming, it was the perfect day to curl up with a book. Except he hadn’t managed to read much before he crashed into sleep. 

“Y/N and her boyfriend are on the TV,” Wildman rasped. 

“What?” Jow snapped, instantly alert. If you were on the news, something had to be horribly wrong. 

“Channel 4,” he rasped between bouts of cough. “HYDRA bust. Huge.”

The phone line went dead, but Joe hardly noticed as he struggled to change the channel, his hands shaking. He hated the news, hated it. He read the paper. He listened to the radio. But he hated news broadcasts. 

Still. He couldn’t not look.

He needed to know. And when the Channel flickered to life, he muted the anchor. He didn’t care what that silly ass was saying. All he could see was you. Boots on the ground, dressed for work. All sleek black and armed. 

Different than in his day. 

And sure enough, not far from you, there was Bucky. And Sam. And a redhead that he’d never met. But he watched you. His sunshine. Take the gun from an enemy and toss it straight up, to where Bucky was perched on a car above you and clearly jammed or out of bullets. 

“That’s my girl!” he shouted, “Get those fucking Nazi bastards!”  
_________

“Y/N, Down!”

You dropped quickly and rolled out of the way without question when Sam shouted at you before pulling your knife from some goon’s eye. “Where the fuck is Stark?” you ask. The four of you were in danger of getting over run. Goons poured out of compound like termites from a toppled mound. They just kept coming. 

“The Cavalry is coming, don’t you worry,” Tony said grunting with effort, “just as soon as I shut this down.”

“Somebody has to get me up to the gallery,” you pant. “I need a PA system. And quiet.”

“No,” Bucky said, throwing another jammed gun aside. “Jesus. 70 fucking years and these assholes still can’t make a decent gun.”

“What do you mean, No?” you challenge, emptying the spent cartridge and use the now useless gun as a club to whack a goon upside the head with before he had time to fire at Natasha. 

“You can’t talk down a whole fucking squad,” Bucky growled. 

“No, but I can create a lot of panic.”

“How much panic?” Steve asked, bouncing his shield off someone’s forehead. 

“A lot,” you say, grinning. 

“Sam-” Steve started. 

“On it,” Sam said, heading up to clear the way. 

“Hulk!” Steve yelled, “Take her up!”

And before Bucky had time to protest, you were being hauled up the wall.

___________

Bucky didn’t know who he was angrier at. His girl or his best friend. What the fuck he’d done in his life to have two people in his life with so little self-preservation instinct, he didn’t know. 

Sure. It worked. You had managed to buy the time everyone needed for Stark to do whatever the fuck he was doing. And sure. You were fine. A little banged up but no more than anyone else. But. just the thought that you could have ended up in Hydra’s hands without him to protect you made him feel furious. 

He took a deep breath and started the water in the shower. He knew he needed to talk to you. To tell you why he was pissed off. But. 

He’d seen the way you flinched away from raised voices. And he knew first hand how much you hated people being mad at you… Not like it took him much to figure out WHY after sitting through the world’s most awkward and frustrating dinner with your mom. And he couldn’t, for the life of him figure out having a daughter. Having lost a son. And treating his only living child the way Carlie had treated you. Every aspect of your life was up for scrutiny. Every piece of you was wanting. Just a little bit. Just enough to make you want the approval you were never going to get. It had made him feel sick. 

And it was enough to keep him in the shower. At least until he’d calmed down a little. At least enough not to yell. Or say anything without thinking. 

He’d learned to be deliberate when he talked to you. To chose words carefully. Because you did. Even when you weren’t using your specific skills, you spoke intentionally. And Bucky could appreciate that. Sure. it meant that sometimes, you replied slowly. But. He could be sure that you told him, as clearly as possible, what you wanted to say. The unmeasured speech was reserved for specific things… like heckling. Or, Bucky imagined moments of passion. 

If you spoke then at all. 

___________

“Are you mad at me?” 

Bucky shut the door to your room quietly and looked at where you were watching him over the back of the sofa. 

“No,” he said honestly. “Not now that I’ve had time to think.”

“Bucky-”

“No just- Just listen, okay?” he said, crossing the room and perching so you could lay your head in his lap. “I shouldn’t have tried to stop you,” he murmured, stroking your hair. “You’re an agent. And you were making a call. I just- Y/N I was so afraid of what they’d do to you if they got a hold of you.”

You make a soft noise and Bucky rubs the back of your neck. “You’re prime fodder, Y/N. They want people with natural abilities. Things they can augment. You’re Hitler’s fucking wet dream. And even if I KNOW SHIELD would move heaven and earth to get you back…”

He stopped and sighed, “That doesn’t stop me from worrying. But I’m sorry. You- you were doing your job. And I treated you like you weren’t- that you didn’t know the risks.”

You pick your head up and look up at him, taking his hand and kissing it. 

“I know how you can make it up to me,” you tell him, grinning

“Oh?” he asked, tweaking your nose gently. 

“You can give me a cuddle,” you tell him, giving him the puppy dog eyes he still hadn’t learned to turn down.

“Such a slave driver,” he sighed, “Jesus Christ, woman.”  
“Keep it up and I’ll make you kiss me too,” you say,grinning. 

“Ugh,” he groaned, “Fine. I guess we can cuddle. But I draw the line at kissing. I don’t want anything to do with your boobs.”


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky smiled a little when you pressed a soft kiss into his shoulder. He’d pulled away to breathe for a second and you’d let him go, nestling into his arms. “Too much?” you ask, tucking a blanket around your bare chest. 

“No,” he said tilting your chin up, “I just- I feel okay but-”

“But you aren’t sure, still,” you finish softly.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. You’d been patient. Very patient. And understanding. For all this time. You never pushed him. And you hardly ever said anything about it. Other than the odd moment when you seemed to intuit something he was struggling to articulate. 

He knew it was hard on you. That you had the same needs he did, things that you were putting aside for his comfort. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I just-”

“I know,” you soothe, smudging a kiss against his jaw. “It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” Bucky groaned, “You deserve- I mean I should be able to. I just-”

“You’re thinking too much,” you tease gently poking his forehead. “You’re so worried about hurting me that you’re stressing yourself out.”

He nodded, “I know,” he answered, “And I hate it. I want- You’re just so fucking perfect and I want-” He couldn’t quite get out what he wanted to say. Saying that he wanted to fuck you didn’t feel right. It was true. He wanted to wear you out and leave you a sleepy, satisfied, boneless puddle. But saying he wanted to make love to you didn’t feel right either. That was supposed to be something… other than what he wanted. That was slower and sweeter than what he wanted. That was… That was something Bucky hadn’t done in a long time. And even as much as he loved you, he didn’t feel like he was ready to feel that exposed.

“Maybe I can help?” you ask softly. Not demanding. Not condescending. Maybe even hopeful. 

“You’re not going to talk to me, Are you?” he asked, stroking your hair. He knew that was why you were so careful about discussing things with him. You didn’t want to influence him, even by accident. And Bucky appreciated that. 

“No,” you answer, sweeping hair out of his eyes. “If you want, I don’t have to say anything. Like at all.”

Bucky nodded, “I mean. I don’t- you can talk to me just… just not like that. I want to hear you.”

You nod and move to straddle his hips again, “You’re sure you want me to do something?”  
Bucky felt his cock throb and he nodded, swallowing hard. You’re still wearing your pajama pants, sure. But he can feel you rubbing against him. Even just a little. And it offered tantalizing possibilities to him.

“Just relax,” you murmur, pushing him back onto the pillows so he was reclined the way you wanted. “And if you can’t- if you need me to stop, we can? Okay? I just- I want to do something for you.”

And Bucky takes a deep breath, nodding. Telling you to do whatever you were planning. 

As you trail kisses, soft, sweet kisses down his neck and his chest; you brush every scar lightly, making him shiver in need. And he feels his hands ball into fists as you work your way down, adjusting your position to be able to trail kisses over his belly. 

When your hands slide up to the waist of his flannel pants, he gasps softly, “Y/N, you don’t have to-”

“I want to though,” you murmur, “please?”

And all he can do is groan, his head rolling back as he nodded. You had hardly touched him and the need for release made him ache. He burnt and he could already feel his muscles tensing. But. If he thought that was the sweetest torment, that was nothing compared to the feel of your mouth. The teasing of the soft kisses you pressed down the length of his shaft as he lifted his hips so you could expose him. 

“You’re so big,” you tut, teasing him. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to take care of you… but I’m willing to try.”

Bucky looks up at you, watching you grin at him, licking up the underside of his cock. And that was the single dirtiest thing Bucky had ever seen a woman do. And it made him moan. He couldn’t even get words out. He just barely managed to get a hand up to stroke your hair. And not for the first time, Bucky is thankful for your intuition. You don’t seem to need any more encouragement as you set to your task with vigor.

His mind is blank. There is nothing but the feeling of your mouth on him. The things that you’re doing with your tongue. Things he wasn’t even entirely sure were really happening or iff he was imagining it. Still. When he manages to gasp words. Any words. He doesn’t even recognize his own voice. 

“Y/N I’m- I’m going to-” 

But when you swallow and redouble your efforts, there is no more time for words. Just a wordless bellowing groan. And as he lay there, twitching and panting, feeling you gently licking him clean, Bucky feels- he doesn’t know what he feels.   
A strange mix of guilt. And pride. And love. When you sit up, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand, Bucky doesn’t hesitate, he pulls you closer and crushes your lips with his. 

“That- that was-”

“Amazing?” you supply, grinning. 

“It was,” he said, kissing you again, savoring the taste of himself on your lips. 

“How’d you learn- I mean-”

“A little different than back in your day, huh, old man?” you tease. 

“Listen punk,” he grumbled, hands sliding to your hips, “I may be old, but if you think you’re not going to get payback for that-”

“You sure you’re up for it?” you ask grinning. 

“There’s one way to find out, huh?” he said, returning your grin. He wasn’t sure if he could do exactly what he wanted. But in that moment, he didn’t care. All he wanted was for the girl in his bed to have a good time.


	11. Chapter 11

“I can’t believe you broke my bed,” you say, looking at the brunette to your left. 

His cheeks colored but he grinned, “Worth it,” he said. 

“After that I think you owe me breakfast,” you pout, smacking him lightly in the chest. 

“Darlin’” he rumbled, ducking down to kiss you lightly, “After all that, I owe you a diamond ring and a two story house with a garage.”

You feel your face heat and warmth spreads through you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes as he pulls you closer. Broken bed aside, falling asleep satisfied and warm against his chest had been the best sleep of your life. “Sweet talker,” you grouse, pressing a kiss against his stubbled jaw. 

Bucky didn’t answer, but he grinned and swatted you affectionately on the backside. “I ain’t kiddin’,” he said when you squealed at him. “You say the word and I’ll book a church.”

You snort and take his hand, dragging him along to make him feed you. You’re starving and now you have to add bed shopping to your list. 

Bucky follows along happily and whistles to himself tunelessly. There’s a contentment that he doesn’t ever remember feeling. The world seems to have a glow. A soft glow that blunts all the rough edges. And everything around you seems to shimmer. Almost like sunlight shining through water. And in the back of his mind, he wonders if it will always feel like this. And he wonders if you’d ever even want to get married. 

_______

Steve watches Bucky, whistling tunelessly as he walks beside you; and he smiles a little. 

“What?” Nat asked, looking up from the paper. 

“Nothing,” Steve said, stroking the ankle that rested on his lap and turning back to his computer. Just because he knew all of Bucky’s tells didn’t mean anyone else needed to know. He liked his women, but he’d never really been the kind to kiss and tell. 

Natasha raised an eyebrow and looked to where Bucky was trailing after you, “Do you think-”

“No and neither do you,” Steve chuckled. 

Natasha huffed, “Honestly you’d think he was an endangered species.”

“We are,” Steve snorted. 

Natasha gave him a look and Steve grinned, “C’mon Nat. Just leave it be. He’s happy.”

“I know but-”

“Y/N is happy too,” Steve pointed out. “When’s the last time we didn’t all have to take turns dragging her out of her room this time of year.”

Natasha sighed, relenting, “I guess.”

“I know,” he murmured, “Change is hard. It’s throwing everything off.” He stroked her calf and smiled a little, “But. It’s Y/N and Bucky. Can you think of two people that would make a better fit for those two?”

“If he hurts my rookie-” 

Steve rolled his eyes, “I’m pretty sure that Buck would chew his arm off first.”

_________

Bucky followed you into the furniture store, mentally steeling himself. He hated dealing with salespeople. But. The fact that he was with you. And he was going to make you happy was more than a small consolation. 

“What about a canopy bed?” you muse. 

Bucky smiled indulgently and toyed with your fingers, “It’s anything you want, princess.”

You make a soft thoughtful sound and chew on your bottom lip. 

“Have you been helped?” 

The voice makes you both turn, though you smile brightly while Bucky had to try not to scowl. 

“We’re just looking for now, thanks!” you answer. The Saleswoman nods and proceeds to chatter at you brightly. Asking questions. And Bucky focuses on you. Watching your face and listening to your questions. 

So far it seems that all you know is what you don’t want. And all the things that you absolutely won’t be sold on. 

And Bucky can respect how… direct you are. Not unfriendly. Or rude. But clear. Your voice is firm but never strident. It’s like listening to you teach rookies. And Bucky lets his mind wander. He can’t help it. He can think of some interesting applications for that tone of voice. 

“What do you think, handsome?” you ask, turning and putting a hand on his chest as you look up at him. 

Bucky has no idea what’s going on, but. Reflexively he wraps his arm around you a little tighter and kisses your forehead. “Whatever you want, doll,” he answered. 

“You trained him pretty well,” The saleswoman laughed. 

Bucky doesn’t have to see your face to feel you bristle. “He’s not a dog,” you shoot back. Your voice isn’t loud. But it cracks like a whip. And for just a moment Bucky feels a moment of pity for the saleswoman. He’s seen that tone of voice crack a much tougher general than this woman standing here, teetering in too high heels and a red pants suit. 

The woman murmured an apology and Bucky tightens his grip just a little, trying to remind you that you’re in public. Though truth be told, he can’t bring himself to do much more than that. He hates the implication that he was “trained” by anyone to be a good boyfriend. 

He also didn’t like the implication that you had changed him without him knowing. Even if he knew that you were overreacting, just a little. Still. When she apologizes, you visibly soften a little and resume asking questions. 

And Bucky chuckles internally when he realizes he still has no idea what you’d asked him to start with. 

____________________

Sam leaned on the counter and sipped a cup of coffee watching furniture being carried in. “What’s all that?” he asked Bucky. 

Bucky shrugged, “I broke her bed,” he said chuckling, “So I replaced it.”

“You broke-” Sam couldn’t even finish the sentence before he cringed. “You fucking-”

“I put my knee in the wrong spot!” Bucky said loudly, laughing. “And when I did I busted two of the boards that made the platform. You pervert.” It was partly true anyway. He did put his knee in just the wrong spot. But he did that tackling you on to the bed for teasing him, somewhere in the course of the evening.

Sam still shuddered, like he was trying to banish the mental image of Bucky in your bed, “Okay but the rest of it?”

“She decided she wanted it all to match. And she wouldn’t let me pay for the rest of it,” he said. 

The other man snorted and shook his head, “Would you have?”  
“Why wouldn’t I?” Bucky snorted. “If I spent more time in my room I’d probably have her redecorate it. She has good taste.”

Sam looked at him consideringly for a long moment and then grinned, “Damn. She really went and sucked your soul out, huh?”


	12. Chapter 12

“Happy Birthday, Old man!”

Bucky and Joe both turn at the same instance at the sound of your voice. And Bucky feels his jaw drop. 

You’re dressed to take the old man out to celebrate. A sleek little black dress and your face done up. And red lips. Bucky loved you in red lips. Just as much as he thought he would the first time he’d seen you smile. 

“You clean up good, punk,” Joe said accepting hugs and a kiss on the cheek, 

“A little make up goes a long way,” You say modestly, checking your bag one more time to make sure you have everything. “Oh! I’ll be right back.” And you kick off your heels to be able to run more comfortably, making Joe chuckle. 

“Son,” he said, “You gonna close your mouth or?”

Bucky shut his mouth so quickly his teeth clacked together and he felt blood flood into his face as Sam walked up with Steve and Natasha. 

“Happy birthday,” Sam said grinning, holding out a hand to Joe. 

“Thanks, kid,” he said grinning. 

“What’d she forget?” Nat asked, nodding to your shoes as she smiled her hellos. 

Bucky shrugged, “Her ma is going to be there so… It’s anyone’s guess.”

“Xanax?” Sam mused. 

And Bucky snorted in spite of himself. And Joe sighed, “With any luck Carlie will behave herself.”

“A lot of luck,” Bucky said shaking his head, smiling for your benefit when you slip through the elevator doors again. And he dutifully holds out an arm for you to lean on to keep your balance. 

“Thanks, handsome,” you tell him, kissing his jaw and reaching up to brush hair out of his eyes. 

“Anytime,” He chuckled, tucking your arm into the crook of his elbow and letting the others go a head. Natasha has seemingly claimed Joe as her escort and he and Steve were happily ribbing Sam. Bucky watched you taking it all in. As more people trickled into the motor pool to join the party. He can’t really read your expression. You look pleasantly blank. And it bothers him that he can’t tell which gears are turning in your head. 

“You okay?” he murmured. 

When you smile a little and nod, Bucky leans down and kisses you softly. “Let me know what I can do?”

Still. On the ride there, you’re quiet. Very quiet. But kind. And helpful. And when they arrived at the bar; a quiet little building that Tony, when he heard it was for a 95th birthday, had happily rented out, you seemed to settle into hostess mode. 

Atleast until a familiar voice drifted over the crowd. “Fuck me,” you mutter. And Bucky looks the direction you’re looking. 

Carlie had arrived. 

“What is she wearing?” Bucky asked, sounding slightly appalled. 

“Her memorial outfit,” you murmur. And Bucky can practically hear the eye-roll in your voice. The decades of irritation. It was true that you were also wearing black. But. You were wearing a black dress with sparkle. It was a party dress. All sleek lines and form-fitting. But Carlie’s black was… different. She wore it like it was for a funeral. And for the first time, Bucky felt the chill that Joe had talked about once. 

And it only got stronger as she crossed the floor to greet you. She air-kissed your cheek and pulled you into a tenuous hug. A hug that hardly even counted. Inches apart and her hands just barely fluttering over your shoulder blades. Over before it really started. 

“You look tired,” she scolded. Not in a tone that conveyed worry, but disappointment. 

“Life happens,” you say shrugging, stepping back to let Bucky say hello. 

“Carlie,” he said, trying to smile in what he hoped looked friendly. 

“James,” she said, air kissing his cheek, “You look very handsome. Rex would have-”

“Mom,” you break in brightly, “Why don’t we go put your gift on the table and get you a drink?”

And as you lead here away, Bucky cringes. He hates it when Carlie does that. The way she has to live in her loss. He knows, really well how hard it is to move on from the pain and move on. But. He did. And, like Joe, he couldn’t see the sense in staying so… stuck. When she had a daughter who did so much. And he didn’t understand why the things you did were never enough. 

He watches you get a drink for your mom at the bar. And then, thankfully, watches as Steve swoops in to make you play pool with he and Joe and Sam.   
“No!” you protest, laughing, “This dress isn’t long enough for that!” 

And Bucky Chuckles to himself as Clint hands you his flannel to tie around your waist. So you didn’t inadvertently give the whole bar a show. 

________

Bucky lost track of you for a while playing darts with the Birthday boy but when they found you again, you and Natasha were both sitting on a couch with your feet shoeless on a low table and Clint laying across both of your laps talking a blue streak. 

Joe shot Bucky a look and Bucky just shrugged. It wasn’t the first time he’d found Clint laying in your lap. And he knew it wouldn’t be the last. He also knew Clint just really enjoyed women’s company. And that, as Far as you and Nat were concerned, as “taken” women, his enjoyment was platonic. It was even a little funny. 

“Clint, scoot over,” Bucky said, nudging his foot so that he’d look up and see Joe needing a seat. And Clint did, sitting up and simultaneously stealing the orange wheel from your drink. 

“Where’s Carlie?” Joe asked, taking the seat that had been occupied by Clint’s feet now that Clint was perched on the arm of the couch. 

You jerk your head in Sam’s direction, “Bird brain took over for a second so I could… just not.”

Joe snorted, watching Bucky go to get you a fresh drink, “Well kid,” he said, patting your knee, “This was a hell of a shindig.”

You smile and squeeze his hand, “You heading home?”

“Yeah,” he said grinning, “You whippersnappers even managed to put Wildman under the table. So my old ass is gonna quit while I’m behind.”

“You need a ride?” you ask, immediately starting to get up. 

But Joe holds out a hand to stop you, “That one’s,” he said pointing to Natasha with a wink, “has already been volunteered.”

The spy grins and leans up to kiss his cheek, “It’ll get him out of my hair for a minute.”

“Happy to be of service, ma’am,” he chuckled, giving her a teasing little salute. 

“And on his Birthday too,” Clint said grinning, “What a guy.”

“Those too,” he said jerking his head at Steve and Bucky who were walking towards the group again, “Make me feel like less of a fossil.”

“Hey!” the fossils in question protest.

And you and Natasha can’t help it. All you can do is giggle helplessly.


	13. Chapter 13

“Bucky,” You grouse, slapping lights on and throwing your bag into a chair as you kick off your shoes.

“Easy,” he hummed, knowing that there was going to be a tirade as he caught you before you could fall over. 

“If I ever-” you pause and throw the shoes you’d kicked off and summarily tripped over into the closet, “act like that- that- woman. Smack me.”

“I will,” Bucky said indulgently. You’re currently more drunk than you typically get. And agitated. Not that Bucky blamed you. After Joe had left Carlie had dialed it up to 11. And Bucky didn’t like that taste of your childhood. 

He crossed the room to your tiny kitchenette and got down a glass. Behind him, he could hear you stripping out of your dress, swearing at the zipper on the back. “Bucky,” you whine, “help, please?”

“Just a minute, gorgeous,” he hums patiently, putting water in the glass before padding over to finish unzipping your dress. 

You wiggle out of your bra and panties before taking the cup with a grateful smile, “Thanks.”

Bucky doesn’t answer but he goes to turn your covers back, “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly. 

You groan and set the glass aside and crawl face first into the bed, “No,” you murmur. “She does this every time I date someone.”

“Like that?” Bucky sputters. 

You nod and reach your arms out, “Please?”

Bucky pulled his shirt over his head and smiled, “I’m coming, don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

“ ‘m not pretty,” you murmur, hiding deeper under the blankets. 

You hear the disapproving little noise and before you know it, strong arms are pulling you against his chest. “Who the fuck told you that, huh?” he rumbled, kissing your shoulder. 

“I own a mirror,” you grouse.

“Be nice to my best girl,” he hums, pressing a soft kiss against your neck. 

“You have to think I’m pretty, we have sex,” you sigh, turning to snuggle closer to him, seeking comfort. You hate it when you get sad when you’re drunk. You don’t have enough of a filter to keep from saying dumb shit. 

Bucky snorted. He knew this was mostly the mood you were in being aided and abetted by the alcohol. “Sweetheart,” he rumbled, “people have sex with ugly girls.”

“I know but-”

“Just simmer down,” he said, stroking your back. “You need sleep.”

“You’re not mad at me?” you ask, nuzzling his chest.

“There’s nothing to be mad at,” he answered. “Your ma- that was. That was hard.” He cradled the back of your head, “She flirted with me. And I thought you were going to end her.”

“She always does that when I date military type guys.” you sigh, “Once she even got the guy to make out with her.”

“That’s-”

“I know.”

“Why-” Bucky isn’t sure how to ask the question he wants to ask. He doesn’t want to upset you. He really does want you to sleep it off a little. But. He needs to know. “Do you really not want kids?”

“Not really,” you answer, “Babies weird me out. And, by the time I’d even be able to have kids because I’ve retired from doing all this… I’d be like 40. And when I retire from doing this I don’t really want to be awake all night and herding kids to soccer and shit.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky said nodding. He wasn’t sure if he wanted kids or not. But. He did want you. And you had a good point. This wasn’t really a good time for you to get pregnant. Your job was dangerous.

And sure. There were agents that had kids. But. You grew up with family that never came home. You wouldn’t want to do that to another kid. Hell. If you stayed with Bucky, you’d have more reasons to not have kids. Just being affiliated with SHIELD meant that you were going to be a valuable asset. And HYDRA? Well, they’d just love to get the Winter Soldier back. 

He had one piece that confused him, “Why do babies weird you out, though?”

You sigh, “Because. Their emotions are fuzzy. They didn’t have thoughts really. So. When I look at them it’s just… weird.”  
Bucky made a soft, thinking noise and nodded. It made sense. Whatever you called your ability. And whatever caused it. It was a big part of how you navigated the world. Even if you generally did it without thinking. Like knowing intuitively that if Clint made the coffee, Bucky was going to want sugar. Sure. A lot of it was just weird little things like that but. If you couldn’t do that, it probably did feel kind of like a void in your head. At least until there were thoughts and personality traits for you to intuit. 

“Fair enough,” Bucky said again, brushing a kiss against your head. “I still can’t believe she tried to use Clay to guilt you into having a baby.”

You sigh, “All my life ‘carrying on the family name’ or whatever the fuck was going to be my one job. Like. Despite the fact that my last name would change when I got married.”

Bucky frowned, “Well. We don’t have to have kids if you don’t want them. But maybe we can get a pet.”

When you look up at him wide eyed and excited, Bucky feels his chest warm. “Really?” You squeal.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, stroking hair back. Damn, he thinks to himself, we’re going to wind up with so many pets.

“Really, really?” you ask.

“Yes,” he said a little louder, laughing. “But only if you go to sleep.”

“I love you,” you tell him, kissing his jaw. And Bucky can hear your heart rate speed up, just a little. 

“I love you too,” he murmured, claiming your lips in a careful kiss. He could feel your moment of disappointment and pulled you closer. Bucky knew that by know, you were sobering up a little. And he was really proud of you, you’d not cried. Or had a whole break down. But. He still felt uncomfortable having sex with you while you were otherwise influenced. 

Even if he knew that it wasn’t, necessarily taking advantage of you because you’d be more than willing even sober. 

“I want a puppy,” you tell him, yawning. 

“What kind of puppy?” he asked, tucking a blanket around you. 

“Something snuggly. And fluffy,” you answer. 

“Big or small?” he asked.   
“Something that likes walks.”

And Bucky nods, tucking a blanket around you as he considers different dog breeds. There had to be something that was perfect. And he was going to find it. Mostly because he wanted to make you happy. But also, now, because he was pretty sure it was going to irritate your mom.


	14. Chapter 14

Bucky let himself into the room and paused at the door, listening for a second. It had been a hard day, he knew. Training and paperwork, and things just didn’t stop. It left you feeling drained and grumpy. 

Grumpy enough that you had bowed out of movie night in the commons. Though Bucky wasn’t sure why. You liked movie night. 

Still. 

He’d given you a little time. Some space to breathe. But now he was getting a little worried, you’d been upstairs for a long time and you hadn’t texted him back when he asked if you were hungry. He supposed you could be asleep, but. As he made his way down the hallway, he reasoned that it wouldn’t hurt to check. 

And if he were being really honest, movie night wasn’t as fun without you. He’d rather watch movies in your room with you than be downstairs with the chattering masses. He missed you when you weren’t around. It was like there was a void where you should be. 

In the doorway, Bucky could see your phone on the bed. And he could hear the soft crackle of candles in the bathroom. “Of course,” he muttered, turning that way. It wasn’t a sulk without a hot bath. When you didn’t answer the phone, Bucky should have known. And so he crossed the floor and knocked on the bathroom door gently. “Yeah?” you answer.

And so Bucky opens the door, “You okay, doll?” he asked, crossing the floor to kneel by the tub. You look, even in this low light, like you’d been crying. 

“I’m okay,” you answer, taking a sip from your glass of wine.

He doesn’t press, but he does reach up and rub a tear track off your cheek with his thumb, “You been in there a while,” he said, “You’re gonna grow gills after too much longer.”

That makes you smile a little and so he presses just a little, “How about we get a cuddle when you get out huh?”

“I’m getting out,” you sigh. 

“You don’t have to-”

“The water’s getting too cold,” you explain, “And some of us catch colds, still.”

Bucky chuckled and reached up to grab a towel, “You should have told me earlier, I coulda made sure you had a nice warm towel.”

“I could have. But I didn’t because I knew you’d come up after me,” you tease, standing up slowly.

“Banking on me keeping you warm, huh?”

“Always,” you tell him, kissing his jaw as he wrapped you in a towel. When you lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, he wraps his arms around you.

He can feel the discontent in the tension in your shoulders. And he knows you’ve been crying. He just doesn’t understand why. He wants to understand but at the same time, he doesn’t want to press. “How about,” Bucky tried, “you let me make this all better.”

“But I’m okay,” you protest, looking away. 

“Y/n,” Bucky murmured, catching your chin in his hand, “I know you’re not. You’ve been crying, baby.”

You make a soft sound and Bucky kisses your forehead, “We don’t have to talk about it. But. I’m going to make it better.”

“How?” you murmur. 

Bucky froze for a second. He didn’t really know how he was going to do it. He just knew he didn’t want you crying alone anymore. “Well,” he started slowly, “Let’s take your mind off of it.”

You give a him a look that’s slightly incredulous and he smacks your backside lovingly, “Get dried off,” he hummed, “I’m going to go get set up.”

Bucky hums to himself and strips easily out of his t-shirt and jeans. He knew you were going to like what you saw, and he’d be lying if he said that your reaction to his nudity didn’t make him feel good. He’d worried before about what you’d think about his metal arm. And all of his scars. But after the first time you’d gotten his shirt off and hadn’t run screaming… well. Bucky didn’t mind being naked in front of you. 

So he strips down and tucks himself in, fluffing pillows and queueing up a movie that you’d told him was practically required viewing for this time, just to be some background noise. 

“Bucky?” he turned and smiled a little. You were wearing one of his shirts and, in the light coming from the bathroom, he can see that there aren’t any panties underneath. 

“Come here, baby,” he coaxed, pushing play. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to do exactly but when you crawl into the bed, he smiles, shifting you over to sit on his lap. 

You go willingly, cheeks coloring when you feel his prick brush against you. “Can I-” you stop and swallow hard, not sure if Bucky would want that. He was very much a vanilla cake kind of guy. Even if he did it very well. And he was really, really good at taking care of you. He had a lot of firm boundaries. Things that he didn’t like even talking about. Things that would make him desperately uncomfortable and leave him feeling… sad for days. He’d told you why, finally. Told you that it had been a piece of his Winter Soldier training. To make him the monster that they’d wanted him to be. They’d made him degrade women. Hurt them. And just the thought of doing anything like that to his girl was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. 

Still. He doesn’t look disinterested, “Can you what, baby?” he hums, trailing his hand down your spine. 

“I want- I want you inside me while I sit on your lap,” you explain carefully, not quite able to look at him. 

“O-oh,” Bucky said, swallowing hard. “I- why? Will it-”

“It won’t hurt,” you murmur. “I just- I want,” you stop for a second, trying to find a way to explain it to him. Some way to make him understand why you wanted to do that. “I want to be close to you,” you settle on finally. 

Bucky thinks about that for a moment, watching you. You look like you need to be held. And you aren’t asking him to tie you up. Or choke you. Or any of the things that he’d seen on the internet that had been frankly terrifying. You just wanted him inside you while you rested your head on his chest. To be close to him. To feel safe. 

“We can try it,” he said finally, pulling you into his arms. 

“You’re sure?”

“But you have to sit still,” Bucky rumbled, smiling. 

You nod and bite your lip as you settle onto his cock with a soft little noise. And Bucky waits for you to get settled. A warm tangle of arms and legs with your head on his shoulder and your breath tickling his neck. “There’s my girl,” he soothed, rubbing your back. 

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel nice. He wasn’t sure how long he could take it but. You were so still. Being so careful not to push him while you listened to the movie. And Bucky- Bucky could barely focus on it. He wanted to thrust up into you. He needed to. But you just seemed so… cozy. The tiny little kitten noises in his ear sometimes and the way your hair cascaded down his arm… He didn’t want to disturb you.

“Bucky?” you murmur, looking up at him sleepily. 

“Yes?” he answers, kissing your nose. 

“You’re throbbing,” you tell him, face heating. 

“I know,” he chuckled, kissing you softly as he pulled you against him tightly so he could put you on your back, without unseating you. “But do you feel better?”

“Almost,” you answer, wrapping your legs back around his waist. 

“Almost?” he teased, reaching down to stroke your clit, chuckling when you squirm and make a soft little whining noise to ask him for more. “Need more of me, huh?”

You nod and arch into his touch, “Please?”

Bucky grinned and kissed your nose, “Anything for you, doll,” he murmured, giving you a shallow little thrust that made you shiver with need. “Anything at all.”

And as Bucky takes you apart, exploiting how sleepy and pliant you are for your own benefit, he reflects quietly that maybe, just maybe, he could stand to try another flavor of cake. That maybe the things he’d done, and the things he’d seen were outliers. And that maybe, if you’d show him, he could find more ways to take care of you. To make you feel as safe and loved as you did right now.


	15. Chapter 15

Bucky watched you work across the counter in the common area kitchen. You cooked the same way you did everything. Intuitively. 

He’d never once seen you look at a recipe as much more than an inspiration. Or a guideline. You worked by taste and previous knowledge. “How’d you get so good at this?” Bucky asked, smiling a little and taking a sip of his soda. 

You half shrug and flip some of the things in your pan before adding a dash of one of the spices on the counter. “I guess it started when I was trying to make my mom pay attention to me.”

“How’d that work?” Bucky asked, smiling a little. 

“Better than you might think,” you answer, turning back to the stove to stir something. “Mom was a pretty good cook. Because she learned from her mom… So when I was a kid she was always in the kitchen. Dad left us pretty well provided for, all things considered, and so mom was mostly at home all day unless she was working part-time or volunteering. And that meant she cooked...And I was usually at her elbow.”

Bucky could see it. And he wanted to hug you. But by now he knew better than to get in the way while you cooked. Nothing irritated you faster than working around someone. 

“Then when Clay- well.” you stop and take a deep breath. “Mom dropped her basket for a minute and I started doing more of the housework… And so it was either cook or live on ramen. And I really hate ramen.”

“How old were you?” Bucky asked softly. 

“12?” 

It comes out as a question. Like you were struggling to put the sequence of events in order. Like so much had happened so fast that you couldn’t bring it in to focus. And Bucky’s heart dropped a fraction. You’d been the same age Becky had been. You should have been playing with dolls still. Not the pint sized matriarch of a broken home. He wants to apologize but he knows you don’t want pity. Or sympathy. Or even empathy. So. For a long time, he’s quiet. Just there and letting you exist in this moment. Giving you time to examine the pain for a second and let it go. A process you explained to him once. Something you learned from a therapist in college. 

“I learned to bake from my Grandma though,” you say after a while. 

And that makes Bucky smile. He’d seen a picture of you and your grandma. In matching aprons. A smear of flour on your chubby little cheek. “You still have to use a recipe to bake though,” Bucky teased. 

You smile a little, “Cooking is art. Baking is science. You have to follow the equations if you want it all to come out right.”

“If it ain’t broke don’t fix it?” Bucky chuckled. 

“Exactly,” you answer, stopping to take a sip of water.

Bucky smiles a little and half turned at the sound of Sam’s footsteps, “Damn,” he said grinning, “It smells good.”

“Really good,” Nat said coming to sit on Bucky’s other side. 

“Hopefully it tastes good,” you say modestly. 

“What’s for dessert?” Sam asked, curiously, peering over the counter. 

“I made your favorite, Sammy,” you answer. 

“Banana Cake?” Sam gasped, mock clutching his heart, “You do still love me!”

You roll your eyes, “What’s the matter, Sammy? Feeling left out?”

“Well yeah,” he teased, “Spending all your time with Sargeant Grump Ass over there. A guy gets lonely.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “I’mma tell Sharon she needs to find ways to keep you busy.”

Bucky turned and mock scowled at Sam, “Sargeant Grump ass?” 

Sam just grinned, “Well. Less so now that you’re getting the attitude fucked out of you on a semi-regular basis.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow but Sam just grinned unrepentantly. You’d been his friend first. He’d met you while you were doing counseling. While you’d been running a group. Though you hadn’t been his counselor. And you’d never run his group. You’d bonded over a love of B horror films and good beer. And then he’d started going and making rounds with you. Helping you do outreach. Helping you help other people. It had helped him. Given him a sense of purpose. Given him something to look forward to. People to care about. 

And aside from Sam not being scared of Bucky, he knew you had a mouth. If he bothered you, you’d tell him. 

But as he watched you lean over the counter and kiss Bucky on the cheek, supporting yourself on your arms so you could reach. And as he watched Bucky’s irritation melt into a blush and a shy smile, Sam knew that Bucky was who you were supposed to be with. You fit together. 

Bucky hefted himself off the stool he was sitting on and Sam walked around the other side of the bar, going to help get things off the stove and onto the table. Plates, cups, and silverware were laid out and Avengers trickled into the dining room. 

“This looks amazing,” Tony said, looking appalled and impressed. 

“Thanks,” you snort, setting a pitcher of tea on the table.

“And there’s Banana Cake,” Sam piped up, helping himself to his dessert first and groaning in pleasure when he took a bite. 

“Very mature,” Tony snorted, watching Sharon toss a balled up napkin at Sam. 

“How come you never do that when I cook?” she teased 

“Because you still haven’t learned that the smoke alarm isn’t a timer,” Sam chuckled. 

“I was trying to Sautee the onions!” she protested. 

“Well they were looking more on flambe than sauteed,” he teased, handing her one of the dishes that was making its way around. 

You watch goings on with a small smile and lean against Bucky’s side. Bucky puts an arm around your shoulder and gives you a gentle squeeze, “You okay?” he asked softly, his lips by your ear. 

“Yeah,” you answer, giving him a smile. But you don’t have much time to do more than that. Sharon and Natasha both pepper you with questions. Sharon’s are technical. Natasha’s are more… flavor based. How you paired things together. 

“Nat, I don’t measure,” you say, laughing a little. “I just kinda… do it.”

“But the garlic-”

“She measures with her heart,” Sam snorted, “She waits til her grandma reaches out from the great beyond and smacks the back of her hand.”

You snort, “Pretty much. “She just goes ‘Quit being rampunctious’ in the back of my head and that’s when I stop putting stuff in.”

“Curious necromancy indeed,” Thor intones, taking an experimental nibble.


	16. Chapter 16

Any protest Bucky might have had was drowned out when your lips crashed into his and your hand tangled in his hair. Not like he had any protests. He’d missed you while you’d been away and now that you’re tangled around him like a hungry, needy vine it feels like he’s whole again. 

“Hello,” he chuckles, “D’ja miss me?”

You make a soft noise and hide your face in his shoulder. You’re tired. And hungry. And all you want is to go to sleep. This is one of the missions that makes you miss your old life. You hate interrogations. And you hate dealing with people that hurt kids. 

It makes it very hard to stay reasonable and rein in all your skill to hurt someone. To make them never want to get out of bed again, let alone give up the information. 

When you sniffle Bucky tightens his arms around you and hefts you a little more comfortably against his side, “Shh, I’m here,” he hums, rocking you gently. “Don’t cry, baby.”

You know he hates it when you cry. And you can hear your mother’s voice in the back of your head. Telling you you’re being dramatic. Telling you that you’re making things up. Telling you to stop being a brat. Stop manipulating. You’re trying not to cry. Trying to hold yourself together. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured, easing himself down onto the couch and rubbing your back. “I’m here, I know.”

You take a deep breath and look up at the ceiling, forcing yourself into a state of calm you don’t feel. You know, in the back of your head that you’re allowed to cry. Those feelings are allowed to be too much. That Bucky doesn’t hate it when you cry because he feels manipulated. He hates it because it hurts him. He doesn’t want you to cry because it breaks his heart when he can’t help you. 

Bucky watches you carefully and rests his hands on your thighs, smoothing slow circles into your skin with his thumbs. “Too close to home?”

You nod and let your forehead gently against his shoulder, the weight thudding against the metal with a small hollow thud. “Hey! Don’t dent me,” he chuckled. “What about some dinner?”

When you shake your head and sit up slowly, Bucky smiles just a little, “Not hungry or is your stomach in knots?”

“My stomach is in knots,” you sigh, “I don’t think I can eat.”

“What’s got you twisted up?”

Bucky asked but. He wasn’t sure you’d answer. He knew that you played some things close to the chest because you’d been told certain things. He’d heard your mom say them to you. And accuse you of not caring that your brother was dead. And after that, he didn’t wonder why you spoke so carefully. Or why you were very cautious about the emotions you showed on your face.

“I just-” you make a soft noise and thud your head back against his shoulder. “I fucking hate dealing with kids.”

“I know,” he soothed. And for a long time, he didn’t say anything else. He cuddled you against his chest and rubbed your back. “Do you ever miss it?” he hummed. 

“Miss what?”

“Working with kids,” Bucky answered. 

You take a deep breath. “Sometimes,” you murmur. “It was- an experience. And it was valuable… I mean. I cut my teeth in a kids psych ward. Dealing with riots… hell. You know what scar on my ribs?”

“Yeah?”

“I got stabbed with a piece of a metal door trying to break up a fight.”

“Jesus,” Bucky breathed. He’d wondered. He’d seen all the little scars. Traced them with his finger tips… the same way you’d done with his as the moonlight shimmered across bare skin. In the hazy twilight between asleep and awake. In the warmth and comfort of the afterglow. He’d never asked about the little scars. He knew some of the stories. Because he’d heard Joe tell them. Or because he heard you tell someone who had asked. And now reflexively he reached for your side. The jagged mark that he knew he’d find, starting at the middle of your rib cage and zig zagging to just above your hip. “A fucking metal door?”

“He really wanted to beat the other kid to death,” you explain, “And I just happened to be in the way. It wasn’t personal.”

Bucky snorted and rubbed your side. He knew, in the back of his mind, that there were probably a lot of times in your life where you might have died. Where he might never have gotten to have you in his life. But that didn’t mean he liked thinking about it. 

“So you don’t miss it? Not really?”

“Sometimes I do,” you murmur. “Kids are funny.”

Bucky snorted and you smile a little, “They are,” you protest. “I remember once,” you tell him, “I was working with one of my kiddos. We were in the gym. And he went to toss a ball at me. I missed and he bonked me in the nose with it.”  
He looked at you sideways, waiting for the funny part and you smile a little. “Later that day he stuck an eyeball sticker to my forehead so I’d see better next time we played ball.”

“How old was he?” Bucky asked, stroking your hair. 

“Seven,” you answer, “He was the littlest kid on my unit.”

Bucky smiled. He understood why you didn’t want kids. And he knew that he wasn’t terribly enthused about kids either. But. He’d by lying if he said you wouldn’t be a good mother. He’d seen you interact with kids. When your former clients saw you on the street. You knew what to say to them. Your face lit up, every time. And more than once when that had happened, Bucky wondered where you’d learned it because your mother wasn’t that way. But. Bucky also knew better than to tell you you’d be a good mom. You didn’t want to hear it. You heard it enough from your mother. 

“If not dinner,” Bucky said, rubbing your hips, “What about a bath?”

If you knew what Bucky was thinking, you gave no sign. Instead you quirked an eyebrow at him, “Are you trying to seduce me?”

Bucky grinned and kissed you slowly, “Maybe,” he rumbled, “Is it working?”

“Almost,” you tease. 

“Only almost?” He popped you lightly on the back side and mock scowled. 

“Can I have a backrub too?”

And the mock scowl melted into a laugh. “Oh so I have to work for it?” 

“Please?” and when you bat your eyes at him Bucky sighs. Mock put upon. 

“Never met a needier dame in all my life,” he rumbled, kissing a line down the side of your throat. And he feels a thrill when your heart rate hitches up and there’s a new tension in the muscle under his hands. 

“Please?” 

And you sound breathless this time. Less teasing. And there was no telling you no. Not about a back rub or anything else you might ask of him. You could ask him to tear out his own heart and he’d present it to you on a silver plate. 

“Bath first,” Bucky hummed. It felt good. It felt right. When you nodded and melted into him, trusting him to take care of you. Trusting him to make it all better. And he didn’t care if you intuited that he needed the control or if you needed him to take care of you. It felt like heaven. 

So as he picked you up and carried you to the bathroom, your head on his shoulder and your arms around his neck, he smiled.


	17. Chapter 17

“Tell me a story?” You murmur, snuggling into Bucky’s waiting arms. 

“What kind of story?” he rumbled.

“Just a story,” you yawn, looking up at him. 

Bucky chuckled and made a thoughtful little noise. “Will it bother you if I talk about Becky?”

“No,” you answer. “I can listen to you talk about anything. I just can’t- talking about my own shit is hard.”

He nodded. That made sense. You had dealt with other people’s issues for years. You plowed through them and helped them cope. Even when you weren’t dealing with your own things. “Did I ever tell you about getting Becky her first ballet shoes?”

“No… Tell me?”

Bucky smiled and tucked the blankets around you, covering your exposed shoulders and bare back. “Well,” he sighed. It was a long time ago. But it was one of the handful of memories in his head that were sharp. “It was during the Depression,” he started. “And all Becky wanted in the world was to take a dance class.”

You snuggle into his arms and look up at him. And Bucky feels his heart warm. You look so cozy and happy. “Aww.”

“Mhmm, And so. I decided that I was gonna make it happen.” He stroked your hair and smiled a little. “Steve and I ain’t have jobs. Hell, no one did. But then, Steve got an idea.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh no is right,” Bucky chuckled. “Steve had the bright idea for us to sell newspapers people threw away.” He smiled a little at the memory. 

“How much did you sell them for?” you ask, grinning. 

“A penny,” Bucky answered. 

“And how much were the shoes?”

“Three dollars.”

“Were they gold plated? Damn.”

Bucky blinked at you for a second and then grinned. He forgot that you actually read books. And that you were partially raised by grumpy old bastards. “What kind of big brother would I have been if I didn’t buy her the best ones?”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen,” Bucky said, smiling a little. “Ma wouldn’t let me run the roller coasters on Coney Island or nothin’. Said my job was school.”

“How old was Becky?”

“Almost 6,” he answered. “So Steve and I were trying to get her some shoes for her birthday.”

“Did you?” you asked softly. 

And Bucky felt the little smile on his face stretch into a grin. “Yeah… She hugged me so hard that I think she almost strangled me.”

It made him happy to remember that. To remember the joy on Becky’s face when he pulled the paper off the box. He’d felt 10 feet tall. She was so sure she was going to be a ballerina…She made Bucky promise to sit in the front row of all over her shows. 

“You’re a good big brother,” you tell him, smudging a sleepy kiss against his jaw.

“I thought I was,” Bucky said softly.

“There is no ‘was’,” you correct him. “I didn’t stop being Clay’s little sister just because he died. The memories didn’t go away when he did.”

Bucky squeezed you closer and kissed your head. Absurdly that felt… better. Hearing that Clay still loomed so large in the memories of your childhood. He knew that you missed your brother. Terribly. But the memories that you have, you hold close to your heart. Jealously guarded. Fiercely Protected. Bucky, in the back of his head knows that you and Becky are vastly different people. Because of course, you are. But when he thinks of Becky, remembering him. And all those little moments. Holding them close to her heart against those moments when she felt alone… It helped. 

“How do you do that?” Bucky asked. 

“Do what?” 

“Know what to say to make it feel better.”

You half shrug, “I just- I mean some of it is just being a decent human but… Other things. I don’t know. I really don’t know. It just kinda happens.”

“That had to have been weird when you were a kid.”

You snort, “A little bit. I mean, my dad never even knew me. But. It used to drive Clay up the wall.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, kissing your forehead. 

“What self-respecting tough guy wants his little sister to tell him that it’s okay to cry watching Bambi?”

Bucky snorted. “I’m sure Joe thought that was a riot.”

You shrug, “Joe always said he knew I was weird. That I knew stuff no normal kids could know. Like about his wife dying… But if he was ever scared of me he never said.”

“Scared of you?”

“My mom used to take me to therapists. And Doctors. And she took me to a priest one time after I told her that it wasn’t fair to Clay to punish him for daddy being gone… I said a lot of slightly creepy things without much context. It all just kind of hit me out of the blue and came straight out of my mouth.”

Bucky winced in sympathy. He could imagine how strange that would be. He’d seen you do it. Even if now, you did it on purpose just to mess with people. Or intimidate them… depending on who it was. He could only imagine how strange and jarring it would be to hear those kinds of things out of a kid.

“A priest though?”

“Mom was raised catholic,” you shrug. “She may have stopped going to church but. Some things are still there… The guilt. The need to make God fix it… you know.”

“What’d he do?” Bucky asked. 

“Taught me to play chess.”

He looked down at you and blinked. He didn’t really see what the one thing had to do with the other. But. A second eloquent shrug from you tells him that there’s probably an explanation coming. 

“Father Roland told me it was just a god given gift,” you explain. “He said that if I were possessed I’d be happy when I accidentally hurt someone. And that I should take my gift and make sure that I do god’s work with it.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow and you smile a little. “I dunno about God’s work… But helping people didn’t seem so bad. So I figured I’d be a doctor.”


	18. Chapter 18

Bucky looked up from his cards and looked at your phone vibrating on the Formica table in Joe’s little kitchen and then glanced at you. Or rather at your back. You were up to your elbows in dishwater.

You’d never been picky about him answering your phone. Or even reading texts. You’d even had him read things to you while you were driving. And answer it… Unless it was from Nat. Evidently you and Nat had conversations you thought would probably scar he and Steve for life. 

When he glanced over, it said STARK on the screen and had an awkward picture of Tony shoving a donut in his mouth. That made Bucky snort. And so he picked up the phone, holding up a finger to tell Joe to give him a second. 

“What, Stark?” 

“Well hello to you too,” Tony scoffed, “Look. Tell Y/N to put her panties back on. I need her to suit up.”

“No she’s-”

“I know she’s out of rotation right now,” he sighed, “But it’s important.”

“Tony-”

“Too late, I’m already en route. She’s gotta suit up.”

The line went dead and Bucky rolled his eyes “Stark’s on his way,” he said over his shoulder. 

“Goddamn it,” you sigh, “Bucky-”

“Already going,” he said getting up and kissing you on the cheek as he passed to go out to your car. He knew you had a gear bag out there. Just in case. And when he came back in, he could hear the distinct sound of you trying to change clothes in Joe’s tiny little bathroom. 

Bucky snorted and opened the door a crack, just wide enough to toss you your bag. “Thanks,” you sigh, unzipping the bag and pulling out pieces of gear. “Joe, how the fuck do you do anything in here?”

“It’s not my fault your ass is too broad for the john,” Joe said over his shoulder, waiting for Bucky to sit so that he could deal another hand of cards. 

“Hey!” you protest.

“I think the kids are calling that thicc now,” Bucky mused, sitting in his previous spot and taking a drink of his beer.   
“I think you’re both assholes,” you grouse, wrestling yourself into a sports bra and trying to pull up the cargo pants. 

“Sticks and stones, Sunshine,” Joe chuckled, listening to your muffled swearing as you lost your balance and thudded into the wall. 

You groan and right yourself. “Why am I even doing this? I’m not even in the rotation right now.”

“I dunno,” Bucky said frowning, “All I know is Stark said you gotta suit up.”

“I really hope we’re not about to go commit fucking war crimes.” 

Outside, a motorcycle revs up loudly on the street and Bucky shakes his head, “Your ride’s out front,” he calls, “It sounds like Nat.”

“Fuck,” you groan, “This is going to be complicated isn’t it?”

“Yup,” Nat said, letting herself in and giving Joe a smile. “Intel. And I need my favorite lie detector.”

You sigh and slide the door open, adjusting the pistol in the holster on your thigh, “Because of course, you do.”

“So wait, is this a mission or a girls’ trip?” Joe asked. 

“It can’t be both?” Nat said shrugging ducking down slightly to kiss Joe’s cheek. 

“That just sounds like trouble,” Joe said shaking his head, “And how the hell is any of that tac gear?”

You sigh and kiss Bucky’s cheek and then kiss Joe’s, “Well. Let’s get this fuckery on the road.”

“Stay out of trouble,” Bucky called as you lope out the door following after your former mentor and current best friend.

Joe watches you go with eyebrows raised, “Is this really a mission?”

“Fuck if I know,” Bucky snorted, “Does it matter?”

“If it’s not a mission what are they doing?”

Bucky shrugged, “Whatever they usually do when Steve and I aren’t around.”

“So… While They’re off galavanting, who’s going to finish my damn dishes?”  
Bucky sighed and put his cards down, getting to his feet to finish the dishes. “Okay, old man. I can take a hint.”

________

You spider hug Natasha’s waist, “So, what am I doing?”

“We are going to Paris,” Nat said simply. 

“Why?” you ask, “Is it HYDRA or-”

“Steve pissed me off this morning and I want new shoes,” she said shooting you a grin over her shoulder. 

You laugh and thud your forehead against her shoulder, “Okay but, how’d you get Tony to play?”

“Please,” Nat snorted, “What dirt DON’T I have on Tony? All I had to do was threaten to tell Pepper about “you know what” and voila! Instant cover.”

“Okay but… did you think Bucky was going to rat us out?”

“Nah,” she chuckled, “But. Better safe than sorry.”

__________

“How was Paris?” Bucky called from the couch where he’d been reading. 

“Shopping with Nat is exhausting,” you answer, setting down what feels like 100 pounds of shopping bags. “But I can definitively tell you that it is a very, very good thing that I make so much in hazard pay.”

“Stimulating the economy, huh?” he chuckled, pulling you against his chest. 

“Just a little,” you sigh, “But I think I got some fun things.”

“Oh?” Bucky tilted his head up and quirked an eyebrow, “What kind of fun things?”

“Things you’re not going to get to see yet.” 

“What-”

But you don’t answer him, kissing his jaw and going to put things away before Bucky has time to get curious enough to start poking through bags. 

“When can I see them?” he asked, sitting up and looking at you over the back of the couch. He can see your back. And hear the rustle of satin, silk, and lace. 

“Maybe for your birthday,” you hum, putting things away. 

“Maybe?”

“Well, you will be 106,” you say reasonably, “And I’d hate for you to have a heart attack.”

You hear Bucky grumble at you from across the room. But what you don’t hear is the rapid patter of his steps. The plush carpet muffling to footfalls. “What did I tell you about that?” he growled next to your ear, digging his fingers into your hips. 

“About what?” you ask, trying not to sound breathless.

“About calling me old, you punk.”

“To only do it if I want to get on your nerves, old man?” you tease, trying not to giggle.

“That’s it,” he growled, throwing you quickly over his shoulder. “Like I need anything lacy to want to make you a mess… You whipper snappers don’t know how anything works anymore.”


	19. Chapter 19

“I need a Volunteer to go on a goodwill mission,” Steve said looking up from his agenda.

“I’ll go,” you blurt out. Not looking at Bucky and tearing your attention away from the stack of papers in your hand. 

Steve nodded, “Great! This is kinda your wheelhouse isn’t it? We’ll get you an itinerary and a crew before too long.” He turned to the redhead on his right, “Nat, if she’s going do you want security detail?”

Nat frowned and you grinned at her across the table, “I’ll buy your drinks.”

“Done,” Nat said.

“Guys,” Steve said, “It’s a goodwill trip, not a party.”

You and Nat both turned to fix him with a slightly offended stare. “Given the archival footage we’ve seen-” you start and Bucky reaches over putting a hand over your mouth. 

“You two ain’t know nothin’” Bucky chuckled in your ear. Sure. Journalists were there to get propaganda footage. And sure. At the time Steve couldn’t get drunk. But that didn’t mean that the rest of them couldn’t. 

You giggle and Steve rolled his eyes, trying to look stern. But Steve, like a lot of people, had trouble being Stern with you. Bucky couldn’t do it seriously. Hell. He’d even seen Fury of all people struggle not to crack a smile. It caused a lot of trouble for rookies that didn’t realize they couldn’t do the same thing. 

_________

“The fuck you want to go to India for?” Nat said. 

“10 year class reunion,” you snort. “They have me listed specifically as a guest speaker.”

“Why?”

“I’m pretty close to famous? I guess?”

“What kind of class reunion has guest speakers?” she asked. 

“A bougie middle class one with pretentious of grandeur,” you snort, hefting your bag into the storage space assigned to you. 

“So, what?” she said grinning, stowing her own bag, “You’re sticking it to them.”

“Out of spite, yes,” you say, unashamed. 

Nat shook her head and set her feet in your lap as you pulled out a book to read on the flight. “You don’t even want to take Bucky? Show off your piece of antique beef cake?”

“Why would I want to show off to those people? I spent four years stewing in all their insecurities and petty arguments… so what if Jeff’s an accountant now? All I’ll be able to see is that he still frantically measures his penis before a date to see if he’s average.”

You hadn’t looked up from your book. Some thick paperback. But all Natasha could do was blink at you for a second. For some reason, Natasha had never considered that. That your ability to know so much might create uncomfortable situations. And how uncomfortable it would get being surrounded on all sides. 

“Hey Y/N,” Nat said after a long moment, chewing on that piece of information. 

“Yeah?”

“Is that why you keep to yourself so much?”

You exhale slowly and close your book, setting it aside. You aren’t sure if this is a metaphysical discussion. Or a heart to heart. It’s hard to tell with Natasha. But you do know that the spy appreciates your full attention. “Sometimes,” you answer carefully. “People are exhausting. There’s always all this push and pull. Trying to filter out what needs my attention and what doesn’t… It’s overwhelming.”

“But,” she prompts, knowing there’s a caveat. 

“But,” you sigh, “With people I know very well… It gets easier to tune out. It kinda turns into weird white noise. Like with Bucky. I KNOW what he needs to feel comfortable. And I KNOW what it means when he grunts at me when he’s irritated. So it gets a little easier to examine and let it go.”

Natasha nodded, mulling. She wanted to know if she was easy to be around. But she didn’t know if that was a thing she could ask. 

You smile a little, “Yes, Tasha,” you tell her, “You’re one of the like 6 people in the world that don’t make me want to jump off a bridge after an hour or two.” And then you turn back to your book. Immersing yourself in the familiar, well worn pages. Sure. It was a beach read, not high art. But that didn’t matter.

And the spy smiled. After 3 years, you still said things that surprised her. 

_________________  
Bucky rifled through the papers on your desk. Ostensibly, he wanted a pen. And if anyone asked him, he was looking for a pen. He definitely was NOT looking for some clue about what to buy you for your birthday. He absolutely was NOT doing that. Because he was a good boyfriend and had already bought your present a week ago. 

He didn’t expect to find… anything. Least of all the invitation to your class reunion. For today. The day you kissed him good bye with a wink and a promise of something more decadent than vanilla cake for missing movie night. 

He looked at the paper. Obviously from a fancy printer. He tried not to assume something. Even if he felt… weird about it. 

Sure. You played a lot of things close to the chest. You avoided discussing somethings. But. High School wasn’t one of those things. You were pretty open about hating it. And Bucky wasn’t surprised you didn’t want to go. He was, however, surprised that you hadn’t said anything. 

Positive OR negative. 

Still. He put things back the way he found them and settled into your desk chair. Looking around the small cramped office like he was going to find a sudden inspiration. Or an answer. 

He didn’t mean to whack a button with his knee while he stretched like a cat. When the top on the desk rolled back, exposing a bunch of hidden papers… All Bucky could do was blink for a second. He knew, of course, that you kept journals. 

What he didn’t think was that you kept them. 

And his mouth went dry. There was just so much here. Glimpses into your private little world. Your thoughts. Your memories. Things that you kept for yourself… Things Bucky wanted to know. 

Things he wasn’t sure, even as he clenched his fists to keep from touching the covers, that he could leave alone.


	20. Chapter 20

“Pretty is as pretty does, Y/N.”

You look up from your book at the kitchen table and sigh. “I know mom,” you answer, trying to keep the sarcasm or irritation out of your voice. 

“So get dressed!” she said, clapping her hands. “Go outside! Go make a friend!”

You take a deep breath and close your book slowly. The air around you seethes. A writhing, wriggling mass of anxiety and desperation. So, as you slip out of the kitchen, you don’t say anything. It won’t do any good. And you know that the Anxiety can turn to anger at the drop of a hat. 

Even if you were comfortable in your sweats and t-shirt. Even if your mom had managed to run off all your friends, you go through the motions. Quietly reflecting that you missed the year or so when your mother rarely got out of bed. 

It had made life a lot easier.

____________

Bucky closed the journal and sat back in the desk chair exhaling slowly. This wasn’t the oldest journal. The ones with cardboard covers so worn that they felt almost like soft leather under his hands. He knew he shouldn’t read any of them. 

They weren’t for him. They weren’t really even for you. You’d started keeping them for Clay. As a record. A way to catch him up on everything he missed while he was missing. He knew he shouldn’t have looked. He should have put everything back and pretended that he’d never found the switch under your desk. 

But he could see it all in his mind so clearly. You’d put everything in those books in excruciating detail. The little crossings out and additions were like a road map of your mind. Where your mood had changed or where you’d decided something made more sense. Things you could never say out loud. Or say that you knew. Not to one other living soul. 

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Focused on the covers. The faded neon colors of the post it notes that had curled around the pages. The spidery hand writing that marked dates. School years and weeks and months. Pictures bound together with rubber bands. And he could feel himself frown. If your brother was dead, why had you kept all of them? Was it a habit? A one sided conversation that you’d carry on the rest of your life? Or was it something different? Something… Something that made death look like a better option. 

The assassin felt his stomach turn. He knew little sisters. The devotion. The lengths… or at least some of the lengths a girl would go to to protect someone they loved. To protect a memory that had become enshrined, sainted over time. And as he stared at a picture of you, a younger you, laughing in a pink formal dress… He just hoped that he was wrong. That all the warnings blaring in his head were nothing but an over active imagination. 

So he pulled out his phone. If anyone could help him without you finding out… Or Natasha. Or Steve. He knew who to call.

“Okoye?”

“White Wolf,” she answered, and he could hear the laugh in her voice. 

“I need a favor,” he said carefully.

“A new arm wasn’t enough?” she snorted, teasing. And Bucky smiled a little. 

“I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important… I need to find someone. Without Y/N finding out.”

“What kind of someone?” And he could hear the suspicion in her voice.

“An older brother,” he said wearily. “I just… I need to know something.”

She made a soft sound of understanding and sighed, “This isn’t illegal is it?”

“Not as far as I know. I swear… I just. I just want to make sure she’s not in over her head.”

“What do you know?”

“I’ll send it to you,” he said gratefully. 

And when the line went dead, he sat back in his chair and bit his lip. He knew. He knew that if you wanted him to know you’d have told him. That it was probably nothing. But. 

If it was all nothing, why was it all hidden? Why hadn’t you told him? Why was there so much… The little he did know he’d had to pry out of you. Ripping the words from your mouth like stubborn wisdom teeth. Or secreting away information like a pick pocket. 

“What did I do?” he groaned, slamming the lid of the desk down with a bang. “God fucking damn it. I really-”

He broke off, teeth shutting with a clack. That was another thing he had to stop doing. Talking to himself. Some rookie had caught him doing it the other day and looked at him like he was losing it. 

“You really should leave the snooping to Natasha.”

Bucky felt himself jerk and whipped towards the door to see Steve standing in the doorway smirking at him. 

“Fuck, Steve-”

“Struggling with that Birthday present, huh?” 

Bucky exhaled slowly, thankful that he’d shut the desk before Steve had come to investigate your light being on in the dim hallway. “Yeah,” he sighed. Thankful that you were the only person he couldn’t effectively lie to.

“Just ask Nat,” he said grinning, “It’s not like she wouldn’t know-”

“I wanted to do it myself,” Bucky cut in, “But I keep coming up empty. Usually she just buys herself whatever it is… And I think bird brain would kill me if I just bought her an engagement ring.”

Steve snorted and shook his head, “Buck, it can’t be that hard.”

“You’re probably right,” he said. “I'm probably just overthinking it.”

And Bucky followed Steve out of the office trying not to feel like he had his tail between his legs. Or like he’d just ended his whole relationship before it had time to start.


	21. Chapter 21

“How was your trip?” Bucky asked, watching you pull clothes out of your bag and throw them into the hamper. 

“Fine,” you say, giving him a smile. And Bucky watched it fade. “What’s wrong?”

He knew now what you were seeing and feeling. The way the air changed. The way you felt like air was getting punched out of your lungs. 

“Nothing,” he tried, pulling you closer and pushing a kiss against your forehead, “Just a rough night.”

You frown and look up at him, “No. It isn’t.”

And Bucky can see the shift in your eyes. Like doors closing. Like walls going up. Guard going in to place. The way that they do when people lie to you. Bucky inhaled slowly and sighed. “Baby-”

You shake your head and step away from him, rocking back. Rocking back on your heels and putting distance between you. A protective stance. A holdover from a job you had before. It doesn’t look dramatic. You look irritated. But Bucky knows better. At least now. Because he knows the way it feels when someone lies. 

“I just,” He stops. He knows he can’t keep lying. But he knows he can probably get away with telling you at least… part of the truth. Enough to explain the discomfort. “I was in your office and I saw the thing for your class reunion.”

You nod, “And?”

“I guess I just- I figured you’d want to go.”

He watches some of the tension leave your neck and shoulders and internally, he thanks his lucky stars. “I guess I just thought- I don’t know what I thought.”

You roll your eyes, “I really hate when people go through my shit.”

“I know,” he said, feeling guilty.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to go. I found those people exhausting and irritating 10 years ago… I didn’t give a fuck about them then and I extra don’t now.”

Bucky nodded. He wanted to pull you closer to him. To kiss you hello properly. But he knew better than to make the first move. Much like a cat, when you felt backed into a corner, you were liable to come claws out. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have been in your papers. And I should have just asked you.”

He still feels guilty. A feeling that only gets worse when you stand on your toes and kiss his cheek. If you notice, you don’t say anything. 

“Not everything has some deeper thing,” you tell him, smiling a little. “I might be a little neurotic but… I’d like to think I’m not that bad.”

Bucky brushed hair out of your eyes, “I’m glad you’re home,” he said, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

And for the next little while, there was no talking. Talking, Bucky knew would get him in trouble. You picked up on looks and tones. And the easiest way to keep you from doing it was just to not talk to you. To keep you from being able to think. To process the information. 

He’d gotten good at that. 

So he did it. Anything he could do to keep you from thinking. To keep you lost in more pleasant feelings and sensations. Until you slept. Until you were sleeping soundly and all Bucky could do was watch the rise and fall of your back. And the shine of the moonlight in your hair. 

He felt like an ass. He exploited your skills. The things he’d learned that no one else knew. Things you might have told him freely given enough time. Still. 

When his phone chimed quietly on the night stand, Bucky snatched it up eagerly. He needed to know. He needed it to be nothing. He needed to come clean. To find a way to tell you he knew those things were there. 

But.

When he looked at the screen, he felt ice form in the pit of his stomach. 

It was only 3 words. But it was enough to make the hair on his arms stand up.

“He’s not dead.”

And all Bucky could do was pull you closer in the dark, resting his cheek on your hair. He couldn’t even be angry at you for keeping a secret. His chest hurt. And all he wanted was to make sure you never had to keep a secret from him again. To feel like you had too walk alone. 

Some fates, Bucky knew, were worse than death. And for you to protect him, you’d have to hide him… Bucky just hoped that Okoye could do it without attracting attention. He had questions. A lot of questions. And he hoped Clay was in a fit state to answer them.


	22. Chapter 22

You sat on the floor, leaning on your legs and stretching, thinking. You knew better than anyone that you weren’t infallible. You got things wrong all the time. Your own feelings influence your perceptions. And it takes a concerted effort to make sure that you keep things separate in your head. 

But that doesn’t change the fact that Bucky has been oddly distant. Not “It’s a bad day I need space” distant. But… something else. And you didn’t think you were wrong. People had been giving you looks when Bucky sat away from you. And when he can to breakfast before you and left before you came down. 

It hurt. But then… He was entitled to be done if he was done. You just wished he would have said something to you about it. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

You smile a little when Nat sprawled out across from you. She radiated concern. And irritation, though with you or Bucky, you weren’t sure. “Thoughts about what?”

She gave you a look and you sighed. “I don’t know what’s going through Bucky’s head,” you say honestly. “He’s been staying… away, mostly. At least when I’m awake.”

Natasha frowned, “Why?”

A shrug is the only answer you can really give her. “Someone else? He’s bored with things and doesn’t know how to tell me? He’s afraid I’m messing with his head and he wants to see if he feels the same when I’m not talking? Maybe I am messing with his head without thinking about it and-”

“Y/N,” Natasha said cutting you off before you could twist yourself up in knots. “It can’t be that. Any of that.”

“Well, he won’t talk to me so,” you shrug again, “I don’t really have a way to check.”

“Why-”

“I don’t know!” you snap. And Natasha would like to snap back, but she doesn’t miss the tears welling up when you look up towards the ceiling and take a deep breath. Trying to find calm you don’t feel. So she pulls you against her chest quickly, resting her cheek on your hair. She’d like to tell you it will be okay. She’s like to give you all the empty platitudes girls tell each other to soothe broken hearts and bruised egos. But she doesn’t. Because she’s learned better than to lie. 

_____________

Bucky poured over the files that Okoye had sent. It was thick. Okoye was good. Better than SHEILD. She’d picked up your trail and found everything you’d done, legal and illegal, to not only find your brother, but get him back. And Keep him.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, scrubbing his hands through his hair. 

His chest hurt. For years, you’d been keeping SHEILD off his trail. Redirecting. Even derailing people that were looking for him. Things that could create… problems if anyone found out. 

And he realized he was in over his head. He never expected you to have a REASON to keep something like this from him. And he never expected that Clay really would be alive. And that he would know where to go to find him.   
__________

“I need your help.”

Steve and Sam both turned to look at him. Sam was glaring and Steve just looked confused. And not for the first time, Bucky wanted to know what it was like to be you. To have that extra perception of what was going on around you. To know how to read a room like that.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something but a quick look from Steve made him shut his mouth with a snap. 

“With what, Buck?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky took a deep breath and outlined everything. Snooping in your office for present ideas. The invitation to your class reunion. Finding the button. Reading the Journals… Telling them that he reached out to some contacts, careful to leave Wakanda and Okoye out of it. And hopefully out of the fall out. And the things that he’d found. 

Clay. Getting recruited by some black ops orgs after he was good. Really good. At doing what he was told. Doing spook shit. Things that were probably war crimes. Things that he was told were for the greater good and doing them to be the hero his dad had been. A mission gone wrong. Falling into someone else’s hands and spending years as a lab rat. You joining SHEILD to find him. And using all your training and all your intel to make it happen. And when you did, the compound you’d destroyed on the way out. The fact that SHEILD had even gone to investigate that occurrence. And found nothing to indicate you were ever there. And Clay. Hidden away someplace where you thought no one would ever look.

Steve listened to everything, watching Bucky carefully. And Sam looked like he was still furious but less likely to hit him. 

“So,” Steve said slowly, “You’ve been avoiding Y/N so she didn’t catch on that you know?”

Bucky nodded slowly, “I figured if she worked that hard to keep him hidden I figure getting him found would be grounds for her to knock my teeth down my throat.”

Sam exhaled slowly, “I didn’t think she had it in her.” He shook his head. In his mind, he was picturing how much it must have hurt. Knowing you were hurting other people by letting them believe Clay was dead. 

“So, what do you want us to do?” Steve said. 

“I want to go out there,” he said slowly. 

“You think she won’t know if we pop up over there?” Sam asked. “She kept him hidden from SHEILD. The girl’s got skills. And if she didn’t put up safe guards, who’s to say Clay didn’t? We could be walking into a death trap.”

Bucky nodded, “I know,” he said quietly. “But. If we can clear his name. And bring him home… I just. I just want-”

“You want to make it worth it when she beats the hell out of you?”

And in spite of himself, Bucky smiles a little. “Yeah. I guess so.”


	23. Chapter 23

Bucky can feel the hair standing up on the back of his neck and he knows you’re watching him. Keeping a distance. Wary. But he knows better than to cross the floor and talk to you.

He knows better than to turn and look at you. You’ll know. You’ll figure it out and Bucky’s whole plan will be sunk before it starts. Because he knows better than to underestimate you know. You have contingencies. You have to. And the second you get tipped off, you can have Clay bundled up and moved. Before they even make it to the safe house. 

And he knows that because it’s in the file Okoye entrusted to him. And even still, Bucky isn’t sure how many times you’ve done it. All Okoye could find was the barest, scantest paper trail to follow. Names that go no where. People who don’t exist working for companies that went out of business decades ago. 

You were good. And Bucky was glad it was Nat who trained you. He just wished that Nat hadn’t trained you quite as well. The longer Steve looked over the file the deeper the frown lines got in his forehead. 

“She’s good,” Steve said, a grudging respect coloring his voice. “I know Top operatives that couldn’t lay a trail that slick.”

Bucky nodded and leaned on the wall, “So what are the odds we can do this without getting her involved?”

“You know her,” Steve said, “Probably better than Nat. Or Sam. What do you think?”

Bucky exhaled through his teeth and looked back towards your retreating back. “Even when she didn’t have anything, Steve-” But he can’t finish that sentence. He trades looks with the blonde, quietly imploring him to understand. This wasn’t about him. This was about the woman that laid next to him at night. That woke him up crying in her sleep. Her heart breaking after spending every waking hour that there wasn’t anything missing. All the while there was a piece of your hear. A piece roughly the shape of your brother. The brother you spent half your life mourning… The one that still wasn’t what he was. 

“Buck-”

“I know,” he said, not able to look away from your retreating back. “But if we can untangle this mess… We can do what she’s been trying to do since she was a kid. We can bring him home.”

“What’s left of him,” Steve cautioned, gesturing with the file. “Y/N might have a damn good reason for doing all this. And Once we step in… There’s not going to be ANY way to keep him off SHIELD radar.”

Bucky felt himself worrying his bottom lip in his teeth, an unconscious imitation of a facial expression hed seen you make a dozen times. “I know it’s a risk but-”  
“What if it’s a risk Y/N isn’t willing to take?”

Bucky felt himself flinch. He knew. He knew it was a dangerous game. That if you got pissed enough and torpedoed the whole relationship it could bring everything down. Before he knew it people would be picking sides and Accords would have to be signed all over. And Bucky would lose you while taking your brother back out of your life.

But… if he could pull it off. You’d be free. You could have any life you wanted. Even if it wasn’t this one. And even if it wasn’t with him. 

“Are you going to-”

“Rat her out?” Steve snorted, “Fuck no.” He exhaled slowly and shook his head. “Y/N did a lot of shady shit. But. She’s a good agent. She’s never gone too far off book. Gets her intel and gets out clean. No collateral.” Steve handed the file back to Bucky with a sigh, “She did some illegal things. But so far as I can tell she tried to make sure no one got hurt. I don’t have a reason to turn her in… But you have to handle this.”

“I-”

“And I don’t mean ignoring her until you stop feeling guilty.”

Steve fixed Bucky with a level look and jerked his head towards the doorway you’d just gone through. “How long you think she’s going to deal with cold shoulders and silent treatments?”

“Steve,” Bucky warned. 

“Listen,” Steve said seriously, “Y/N is one in a billion. She’s not someone you can replace. Not now. Or ever. Don’t let her go.”

____________

You put your feet on Natasha’s lap and took a pull from your bottle of wine, thankful you hadn’t inherited the alcohol allergy that cropped up in your family. “Nat?”

“Hmm?” she answered, pulling the ottoman closer so she could prop her feet up.

“How do you and Steve deal with secrets?”

Natasha looked at you consideringly for a moment and smiled a little, “We don’t worry about them- too much.”

“But-”

“Y/N,” she said softly, “I know. There’s things… A lot of things you play close to the chest. Things I don’t even know. But I do know that you’re a good agent… Even if you are a shitty spy sometimes. And Bucky- Bucky’s not going to walk away from you for whatever it is. I mean- He might not remember it but, he murdered a president.”

You snort and take another pull from your bottle of wine, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Yeah but it’s not like- I was engaged once. Or like I cheated on my entrance exams or something.”

You take another pull from your bottle and Natasha quirks an eyebrow, “I really hope you’re not pregnant.”

“First of all,” you hiss, “Bite your tongue. My mother does NOT need grandkids. Second of all, I think it might be worse than that.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow and you sigh, “I promise I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Okay but- what did you do?”

You take a deep breath. Simultaneously too drunk for this and not drunk enough. “It’s a long Story,” you caution. 

“Ooo- Scared I’ll tell Fury?” She’s teasing. She radiates mischief, anticipating fudged paperwork or a slightly less than truthful debrief. 

“A little,” you admit softly. 

Natasha took a pull from her own bottle and smiled a little, “Please. There is something about Mentor/ rookie privilege. So. Spill.”

You take a deep breath and another pull from your bottle. Pondering the titles of the books on your shelves. Looking for the right words. But there were none. How do you tell a person that everything they think they know about the biggest event in your life is predicated on a lie.

Much less do that to a master spy and keep your larynx.

You take a hard swallow from your bottle and exhale through your teeth. “My brother is alive,” you say finally.


	24. Chapter 24

Natasha blinked at you slowly, processing that information. She knew that was the reason you let SHIELD recruit you. And she knew that at some point, you had found something. Something that had made you back off. 

When she’d asked you, you’d said that you found out what happened. And Natasha hadn’t pressed because you looked like you had stared into hell. 

“Define alive,” Nat said quietly. 

“Half the time,” you say, exhaling slowly, “He doesn’t recognize me. I’m the girl that brings him car parts and groceries sometimes. But… He’ll happily assemble and reassemble an engine for hours. The other half of the time he’s just sort of… catatonic almost. He pretty much stays where his caregivers put him.”

Natasha winced, “So- you weren’t really lying then you let everyone think he was dead?”

“Not really,” you murmur. “Mom- well. I don’t- She doesn’t- She would have used him to play the martyr. And everyone else? He doesn’t remember them. Not really. And it just confuses and frustrates him when he tries.”

“So you paid for his nice little set up?”

“Kind of. Most of it is a nest egg Clay already had. Turns out he made a lot of money doing- well-”

“War crimes?” Natasha supplied. Not casting judgement but wanting to know how deep in you were.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “But-”

“Government Sanctioned war crimes?”

“Yeah.”

The spy watched you for a moment. Trying to breathe. To deal with the guilt. And the pain. And the frustration. And she tried to see what you were seeing. What would she have done in your position? And with your resources… She arrived at the conclusion that she probably would have done about the same thing. Or at least tried. 

“Nat?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said softly. “Not as long as you tell Bucky.”

__________  
The Island was warm. And white sand beaches lined the shore. Soft breezes rustled palm trees. It was picturesque. A little too perfect, honestly. And as the three of them, Bucky, Sam, and Steve, trudged over the sand, they were all looking for trip wires. Or pressure plates.

Not that they thought you would have gone for anything so obvious. But still. You’d invested a lot of time an energy into creating this little safe haven. Still. They hadn’t seen a guard. Or even a nurse. 

Nothing. It was quiet but for bird calls and waves lapping on the shore. 

Sam opened his mouth to say something and Bucky pressed a finger to his lips, gesturing them forward. They were 100 or so yards from the tree line. And Bucky knew that the longer they stayed in the open, the more likely it was to be spotted.

So they moved forward. Bracing for the worst. Ready for maiming and a gun fight. 

And they were all confused. When all they found was a red truck. Probably from somewhere in the mid 50’s. With candy apple red paint. And a man bent over the hood lovingly tinkering with the exposed engine. 

Not far up the beach, there was a little bungalow. And they all looked at eachother. It was a lot less dangerous looking than they’d assume. 

So Bucky coughed quietly to announce their presence, making the man whirl around, holding a pistol in his right hand. “Who are you?” he barked. 

The three of them put their hands up and Bucky stepped forward, just slightly, “We know Y/N,” he said carefully, “We just- just came to say hello.”

“Y/N is- is- is” he stood there for a moment stuttering and Bucky could see him struggling. Thinking. “She’s 8,” Clay said finally, his face sinking into a glower as he eyed the grown men standing in front of him.

“No- She-”

But Steve put a hand of his arm quickly, “We know Joe, too,” Steve tried, and exhaled slowly when the glower relaxed slightly. 

“How is the old man?” Clay asked, reaching over and pulling three beers out of a cooler and handing them out. 

“Still a pain in the ass,” Sam chuckled, opening his. 

Clay snorted and looked towards the house, his voice sinking into a whisper, “Look. This post isn’t too bad but… If Rock and Jack catch you we’re all gonna get in hot water.”

Steve nodded seriously, “We have clearance,” he said, flashing his SHEILD identification card. 

And Clay exhaled slowly, looking relieved as he nodded. “Well if you all are staying… you should probably go talk to Jack… I gotta get this engine put back together.” And with that, Clay turned back to his truck, resuming his tinkering. 

Steve and Bucky traded looks with eachother. That wasn’t what they pictured. But. They still made their way up to the house, weaving their way carefully through the trees. “What the fuck?” Sam whispered. 

“Brain damage,” Bucky said cringing. The file had been nonspecific about what his status was now, Careful to keep the information extra secret. And now Bucky could understand why. Somewhere in all his torture, he’d gone back in his head. A protective measure meant to keep him from living in a painful reality. 

“Eight?” Sam hissed. 

And Bucky shrugged, “That must be how old she was when he took his first mission… Or at least before it all fell apart. When he was happiest.”

Sam nodded and glanced back towards the man working on the truck. “Jesus christ.”

“Stop!” A voice ordered, and at the sound of a gun cocking, the three of them turn. “Who the fuck are you three?”

“We know Y/N,” Bucky said, taking in the man in front of them. He wasn’t sure if this was Rock or Jack. He was tall. And broad. With olive skin and close cropped hair. He didn’t look like any caretaker that Bucky had ever seen but then. Clay was strong. Really strong. And thought this was a mission posting. It made sense you’d have hired muscle. 

“She dead?” the man asked, slowly lowering the gun.

“She wasn’t when we left,” Sam said, looking towards Clay. 

“She know you’re here?”

“No,” Steve said honestly, pulling out his identification card again, hoping that will get the guy to put the gun away. 

The man looked the ident card over and quirked an eyebrow, “Am I about to get arrested?”

“No,” Steve snorted, “We just have questions.”


	25. Chapter 25

“Listen,” Rock said, handing out another round of drinks as he watched Clay out the window, “Y/N is a good boss. As long as Clay is looked after and we don’t spend too much on beer and pay per view boxing matches, she doesn’t really ride us too hard.” He sighed and popped his neck. “Clay made enemies. A lot of them… And he doesn’t remember any of it.”

“So is that why-” Bucky started, and Rock snorted. 

“Why did she tell him she was taking him to a new posting? Yeah. It makes him wary of strangers but doesn’t freak him out.”

He nodded and looked back towards the man outside. And his chest hurt. “Clay thinks she’s 8 years old.”

“Sometimes,” Rock said. “Sometimes he knows she’s a grown up. Sometimes he thinks she’s just his company contact.”

“How’d his shit get so scrambled?” Sam asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“At least one traumatic brain injury. Maybe two… Y/N made us our plans. All the stuff we can use to help keep him out of the woods but… Sometimes, I wonder how much longer she can keep him out here. I mean, you guys found us. What’s to stop someone else from doing it?”

Bucky exhaled slowly and shook his head. He’d like to say he’d help you but. In the other room he could hear Jack furiously texting. And he had a sneaking suspicion that he’d be lucky if you’d even look at him when he got back.

__________

You brace yourself and take aim. You’d hope some range time would take your mind off of how furious you were. But it hadn’t.

You still wanted to grab Bucky and shake him until his teeth rattled. To yell at him and ask if he realized how many people were tracking him. If he’d considered the risk that this little escapade had posed to Clay. But you already knew the answer. 

Of course he didn’t.

He wanted to help so badly. To make sure that you weren’t in over your head. That he plunged headlong into a piss poor plan. Maybe he had some rabbit brained idea that HE was going to be able to fix Clay. But there was nothing to be done. His brain was slowly dissolving. He was sinking faster and faster into the past. And it was getting harder and harder to help him find his way out. 

It was the slowest goodbye. Instead of losing your brother once, you were going to say goodbye to him for years. You were keeping him from people who loved him. Trying to protect everyone. But fuck if you wouldn’t give anything to be able to take care of all those old enemies and bring him home. Put him in a nursing home where you could visit more. Where his mom could come and fuss over him. And Joe could come and play cards. 

You squeeze the trigger repeatedly, hoping the rapport from the gun will chase the thoughts out of your head. To get rid of the stinging behind your eyes. But it doesn’t. Cold fire burns behind your rib cage and down into your belly. Your skin felt like it was vibrating. And all you wanted to do was scream. 

Like every scream you ever swallowed was clawing its way out of your throat . Like every time you bit your tongue and looked down. Afraid that if you started screaming you’d never stop had come back to haunt you. All the words you’d never said because you were afraid to manipulate someone. Afraid that you’d hurt them. It felt like they were bounding around in your skull threatening to burst it in two. 

And when cold metal and warm flesh wrap around you, pinning your arms to your sides and pulling you backwards against a solid chest… It’s only then that you realize you really were screaming. 

__________

Bucky looked at the blue glow cast over your skin and heard the decades of pain burst out of your mouth and it was enough to almost knock him off his feet. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, lips against your ear, “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

And he isn’t sure if it’s the pressure or the fact that it’s him, but when you start to go lip, your now unloaded pistol clattering to the floor, he kneels behind you, keeping you against his chest. 

“Why’d you do it, Bucky?” you ask softly. 

And you can feel the jolt of alertness behind you. “I pay them,” you say bitterly, “Did you think they wouldn’t call me?”

Bucky exhaled slowly. “I found your journals- on accident,” he added quickly. “I bumped the button with my knee. And then I- I- I guess I wanted to know.”

“So- you put Clay at risk because you were curious?”

He winced, “If it helps… We did some recon on the island. Beefed up your security measures a little.”

“It doesn’t,” you sigh, “But thanks anyway.”

“Y/N-”

“Stop!” you bark, pushing away and getting to your feet quickly. “You lied to me. Not Once. But several times. You literally went out of your way to avoid me so you could keep lying to me because you KNEW you were in the wrong.”

You push hair out of your face and look down at him. “How fucking dare you?” you ask. “What gave you the right? What made you think that it was okay to lie to me? To ignore the fact that I DIDN’T WANT YOUR HELP! Do you think I like knowing that I’m hurting everyone that loves him? Do you think it’s fun to have my mother live her life in perpetual fucking mourning? Do you think I don’t know that Clay would do better with that group of crusty old fucks to sneak him beer and peanut butter cups?” You break off, panting and wipe away frustrated tears. “And now I have to contend with SHIELD too? How is any of that fair?”

“It’s not- I just-” Bucky stopped when you glared at him and shut his mouth with a snap. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. 

“So am I,” you say softly, turning on your heel and walking away. Before you say anything else you might regret.

Bucky watched you go and exhaled slowly. He wished that you would have just hit him. It would have felt better. Because for the first time, he understood why you were so careful with the words you said and the tone you used. He felt every scrap of what you felt. 

And he felt like he wanted to scream.


	26. Chapter 26

“What the fuck, Bucky?” Nat hissed. 

And Bucky cringed, “I know-”

“I just fucking got her to talk to you about it, you dumb fuck,” she said, grabbing him by the back of the neck and dragging him into an empty conference room. 

Bucky sighed, “Nat-”

“No,” she hissed, “She had a whole crisis about whether or not to say anything and then you had to go and go behind her back? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The brunette hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Have you ever heard her talk about him?”

“Clay?”

“Yeah,” he said looking up slowly.

“Not often,” Nat admitted. 

“Me either,” he said, “But you know what? When she does, she talks about him like he’s in the next room. Her whole life is built around making him proud of her… Not her ma. Not her dad. Clay.”

Natasha sighed, “You’re still an idiot.”

“I know,” he said smiling a little. And for a long moment, the silence stretches between them and Bucky watches the spy carefully. “Hey Nat?”

“If you’re about to ask me to talk to her for you-”

“No I-” he stopped and looked around, stepping slightly closer, “Have you ever had her forget to be… cautious when she’s angry?”

Natasha shook her head. “I’ve seen the after math but… Never heard it first hand.”

Bucky nodded. He couldn’t get the feeling out of his chest. It still hurt. Like when you touch a weird texture and feel it on your hand for a while after word. The memory of an unpleasant sensation. Like a cold brand slapped against his ribs. Cold fire closing around his heart and clawing it’s way up his throat. The pain was gone but the sensation lingered. “I kinda understand why that rookie took a shot at her once.”

The spy quirked an eyebrow, “That bad huh?”  
He nodded, “My fucking rib cage burnt. My throat is still burning… But it’s cold. So cold.” It reminded him of cryo. Just a little. Sure, he was flash frozen but. He could still feel an instance of cold swirling in his belly and closing up his throat. 

Nat shivered reflexively and took a deep breath, “You okay?”

Bucky nodded, “She was so fucking angry I don’t even think she realized what she was doing. Or that she was doing it.”

The spy nodded. She had her own theories about how you controlled your abilities. And what made them so magnified. And privately, she was glad that she’d never been on the receiving end of one of those instances where you’d lost control. She’d wondered if she was just immune. But, she knew what it felt like when you were happy. Really happy. The air sparkled and it felt like diving into warm water. Like the perfect sunny day after a long winter. 

“You need to fix this, Bucky,” she said quietly. 

And all Bucky could do was sigh. He wished that he knew how. 

_________

Joe looked at you over his coffee mug as you pondered the dominos on the table. You were quiet, at least quieter than normal. You hadn’t been properly talkative since before Clay died. You went through the motions a lot. All big smiles and dimples and attitude. But in the quiet moments, that. That was his girl. And today, you looked beat. Like the night before had been a long one. And he sighed. 

“Y/N, either put something down or pack it in kid. I ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

You start, snapping back from where you’d meandered off too and bite your lip. “Sorry.” But Joe knows your heart just isn’t in it. Something had you chafed raw on the inside. And being around anyone hurts. There’s no safe port of storm. But you put down a tile, turning your attention for a second to your coffee cup. 

He wants to ask where Bucky is. If it’s a mission or- Well he doesn’t want to think that it might be anything else. That you might have called it quits. Or that Bucky did. He’d seen the way the other man looked at you when you weren’t looking. It was like you hung the moon. Like if he looked away too long you might fade away because there was no way a girl that pretty could be real. And Joe didn’t envy him. Nothing burned that hot or that bright but once in a life time. And nothing could scare you like that fear that it could all go away in an instant. Like it had done for him once upon a time. When his wife died and left him rudderless. No children. No plan. Just an ache in his heart nothing could fill. At least until his sister Margerie marched to his door with two kids in tow. One little girl with chocolate smeared on her mouth and a Boy trying desperately to keep her from getting too far away from him. The memory still made him smile. And Joe would give anything for you to be that little again. 

“So,” he said, pushing a tile into place and leaning back in his chair, “You gonna tell me what’s wrong or do I gotta waste what little grey matter I got left trying to piece it together?”

“Joe,” you start, trying to smile. Trying to shift his focus

“Don’t you try that shit with me, young lady,” he scolded, shaking a finger at you. “You keep it up and you’re gonna be in a world of trouble.”

You sigh and rub the back of your neck, “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Joe scowled at you and fixed you with a level stare, “Young lady-”

“I just don’t,” you cut in meekly. “It just- it’s complicated.”

“You think I don’t know complicated? I had to deal with the aftermath of your boyfriend shooting a president.”

You snort bitterly, “Yeah. Well. this is probably almost as ridiculous.”

There’s a feeling in the air. A chill that burns. It feels like the moment before a car crash and the moment after you find your girl kissin’ your best friend. Disappointment. And pain. And irritation. 

It’s only just a moment. A suggestion of the weight pressing on you before you pull it all back where it belongs. But it’s enough to make Joe shut his jaw with a soft snap. As much as he might like to know, he can’t press. Because in that moment, he realized, for the first time in his very long life, that knowing things is sometimes harder than not knowing. 

And he’s better off in the dark.


	27. Chapter 27

You work carefully, focusing on the task at hand. It helps some times, following the steps one at a time. It makes the world go softer at the edges and blurs some of the awareness you have.

Cookies are nice, but you only get some relief every 8 minutes. And so cake is the order of the day. Some stupidly complicated confection that takes dowel rods to support the weight of all the pastry and icing and cream. 

It’s hot in the kitchen and sweat trickles down your back. A fine sheen of sweat blooms along your neck and across your forehead. But you don’t stop. Not for much longer than it takes to wipe your face with a dish towel slung over your shoulder. 

“What’s the occasion?” Tony drawled, leaning on the counter and watching you add egg yolks to the mixture gently boiling on the stove. 

“I just needed something to do,” you say shrugging, giving him a small smile. 

Tony is exhausting. And in some small way, you think he knows that he makes you tired. He doesn’t seek you out often. And when he does he tends to do or say a lot with very little. 

“Looks good,” he said, giving you a level look. Like he knows your nonchalance is bullshit. 

“I’m thinking Italian meringue between the layers. And maybe some lemon curd.”

He nodded, and took a seat on one of the stools, content to watch for a while. 

“My mother couldn’t cook,” Tony said idly. The information dropped in front of you like a package. One he didn’t really care if you opened or not. 

She didn’t really need to, did she?” you ask, deciding to open the package. 

“I guess not,” Tony snorted. “But our cook wouldn’t ever let me lick the spatula.”

“You were truly a deprived child,” you tell him, handing him spoon with cake batter on it.

And you watch his eyes light up a little. The ghost of a childhood longing now realized. All human beings are creatures of want. If you learned anything in your time as a counselor, you learned about want. That sometimes, there’s no difference between wants and needs. Tony’s need to feel loved manifested in small ways. In little longings. The need to be touched. The need to be heard. The need to lick a spoon. 

“How do you do that?” Tony asked ponderously. 

“Do what?” 

“This,” he said gesturing vaguely at the air around him. The calm he felt where early there had been irritation. 

And all you can do is shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t remember a time where I couldn’t do it. And things got honed a little bit over the years. And when I had my counseling practice, it came in handy.”

Tony nodded, considering that. “Why didn’t you ever go for a doctorate?”

“That wasn’t where I could do the most good,” you explain with another shrug. “A doctorate was kind of redundant with what I was doing.”

The inventor looked down at your hands. They’d never stopped moving. And Tony watched, wondering how women did that. They made talking and working look so easy. It was irritating and mesmerizing. 

“I’m surprised Bucky isn’t in here,” Tony said looking around as if the assassin was hiding on the other side of the counter or in a container of flour.

This is less of a package and more of a brick, thudding at your feet. And this one, you choose to ignore. Tony has a need to know but you have a need to protect the spiderwebbing of cracks newly criss crossing your heart. To let it heal. To wrestle with your own feelings in private. 

But Tony doesn’t miss the stutter in your movements. Your hands momentarily forgetting the steps of the dance. And he nods to himself. He knew. Everyone knew by now that something had happened the day before yesterday. 

You only looked at each other when the other had glanced away. But anyone who had known what happened was keeping the secret. And Tony, like everyone else wanted to know. 

It was another thing you understood. The need to know. Children were innate curious. Adults were curious but cautious. Curiosity was possibly one of the most important human traits. It lead to the fall of mankind and then it lifted them to the stars. You knew that need. The longing. You’d spent your whole life curious about your dad. Gleaning whatever scraps of information you could find.

“Tony-” The voice makes both of them turn. And you whip back to your countertop as soon as you register Bucky standing there. 

“What’s up Frosty?” Tony said, leaning over to drop his licked clean spoon into your dishwater. 

“Steve wants you,” he said. 

“We already knew that,” Tony said rolling his eyes, “But unless he and Romanoff called it quits-”  
“He wants to talk about the rookies,” Bucky clarified rolling his eyes when you snort in spite of yourself.

“Don’t let him eat my cake!” Tony said, walking out of the kitchen.

“I’ll make him save you a piece,” you assure him.

Bucky stepped closer and swallowed hard as Tony, reluctantly left the kitchen. He missed you like he missed his own time. He hadn’t slept right since you turned and walked away from him. There wasn’t a moment where he felt comfortable. Nothing was right without you. 

“I’m sorry I lied,” Bucky said softly.

“Are you?” you sigh, “Or are you just sorry I’m mad at you?”

“Y/N-” he started, stepping forward, “I never meant to hurt you. I should have just told you the truth.”

“You really should have,” you tell him, banging a cake pan on the counter. 

“I knew I just- I guess I thought that I could just… fix it for you,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize- I mean. I knew it was bad but-”

“And it’s only going to get worse,” you say, looking down at your hands. “I just- I just wanted him to have a quality of life when he can… I figure a beach, some beer, and some cars to fix isn’t the worst thing.”

“And when he can’t do that anymore?”

“I’ll figure it out. Rock and Jack keep him taken care of. Give him some company. And they’re both in just as deep as Clay is… so. At least for now, he’s happy and he deserves that.”

Bucky steps closer and pulls you against his chest gently, “He didn’t know who you were,” Bucky murmured, pressing a kiss against your head. 

“Doesn’t change the fact that he needs to be protected,” you sigh. 

“I know,” he said kissing your head again. He knew that you were brave. And Kind. And smart. But the longer he thought about it, the risks you took. The risks you were still taking. The more his heart broke for you. 

And when you start to cry, hiding your face in his chest, all he can do is hold you. Hold you and thank his lucky stars that he was home.


End file.
